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COLLECTED POEMS 

VOLUME II. 



COLLECTED POEMS 



BY 

ALFRED NOYES 




VOLUME TWO 



NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 






COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY 
rSEDEHICK A. STOKES COMPANY 



COPYRIGHT, 1906, 1907, 1908, by 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1910, 1911, BY 
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT, 1900, 1909, BY 
ALFRED NOYE8 



All rights reserred, including that of translation into foreign languages, 
including the Scandinavian. All dramatic and acting rights, both pro- 
fessional and amateur, are reserved. Application for the right of per' 
forming should be made to the publishers 



y 



SEVENTH PRINTING 






l^^oi 




October, 1913 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Mist in the Valley 1 

A Song of the Plough 4 

The Banner 6 

Rank and File 6 

The Sky-Lark Caged U 

The Lovers' Flight 13 

The Rock Pool 16 

The Island Hawk 20 

The Admiral's Ghost . 26 

Edinburgh 29 

In a Railway Carriage 30 

An East-End Coffee-Stall 32 

Red of the Dawn 33 

The Dream-Child's Invitation 35 

The Tramp Transfigured 37 

On the Downs 50 

A May-Day Carol 52 

The Call of the Spring 53 

A Devonshire Ditty 55 

Bacchus and the Pirates 56 

The Newspaper Boy 64 

The Two Worlds 66 

GoRSE 68 

For the Eightieth Birthday of George Meredith . 69 

In Memory op Swinburne 70 

On the Death of Francis Thompson 72 

In Memory of Meredith 74 

The Testimony of Art 76 

The Scholars 76 

Resurrection 77 

A Japanese Love-Song 78 

The Two Painters 79 

The Enchanted Island 88 

Unity 92 

V 



2 MIST IN THE VALLEY 

A yard in front, a yard behind, 
So strait my world was grown, 

I stooped to win once more some kind 
Glimmer of twig or stone. 



IV 

I crossed and lost the friendly stile 

And listened. Never a sound 
Came to me. Mile on mile on mile 

It seemed the world around 
Beneath some infinite sea lay drowned 

With all that e'er drew breath; 
Whilst I, alone, had strangely found 

A moment's life in death. 



V 



A universe of lifeless grey 

Oppressed me overhead. 
Below, a yard of clinging clay 

With rotting foliage red 
Glimmered. The stillness of the dead, 

Hark! — was it broken now 
By the slow drip of tears that bled 

From hidden heart or bough. 



VI 

Mist in the valley, mist no less 

That muffled every cry 
Across the soul's grey wilderness 

Where faith lay down to die; 
Buried beyond all hope was I, 

Hope had no meaning there: 
A yard above my head the sky 

Could only mock at prayer. 



MIST IN THE VALLEY 

VII 

E'en as I groped along, the gloom 

Suddenly shook at my feet ! 
0, strangely as from a rending tomb 

In resurrection, sweet 
Swift wings tumultuously beat 

Away! I paused to hark — 
0, birds of thought, too fair, too fleet 

To follow across the dark! 

VIII 

Yet, like a madman's dream, there came 

One fair swift flash to me 
Of distances, of streets a-flame 

With joy and agony. 
And further yet, a moon-lit sea 

Foaming across its bars. 
And further yet, the infinity 

Of wheeling suns and stars, 

IX 

And further yet ... 0, mist of suns 

I grope amidst your light, 
0, further yet, what vast response 

From what transcendent height? 
Wild wings that burst thro' death's dim night 

I can but pause and hark; 
For 0, ye are too swift, too white, 

To follow across the dark! 

X 

Mist in the valley, yet I saw, 

And in my soul I knew 
The gleaming City whence I draw 

The strength that then I drew, 
My misty pathway to pursue 

With steady pulse and breath 
Through these dim forest-ways of dew 

And darkness, life and death. 



A SONG OF THE PLOUGH 

A SONG OF THE PLOUGH 
I 

(Morning.) 

Idle, comfortless, bare. 

The broad bleak acres lie: 
The ploughman guides the sharp ploughshare 

Steadily nigh. 

The big plough-horses lift 

And climb from the marge of the sea, 
And the clouds of their breath on the clear wind drift 

Over the fallow lea. 

Streaming up with the yoke. 

Brown as the sweet-smelling loam, 
Thro' a sun-swept smother of sweat and smoke 

The two great horses come. 

Up thro' the raw cold morn 

They trample and drag and swing; 
And my dreams are waving with ungrown corn 

In a far-off spring. 

It is my soul lies bare 

Between the hills and the sea: 
Come, ploughman Life, with thy sharp ploughshare, 

And plough the field for me. 



II 

(Evening.) 

Over the darkening plain 

As the stars regain the sky. 
Steals the chime of an unseen rein 
Steadily nigh. 



A SONG OF THE PLOUGH 5 

Lost in the deepening red 

The sea has forgotten the shore: 
The great dark steeds with their muffled tread 

Draw near once more. 

To the furrow's end they sweep 

Like a sombre wave of the sea, 
Lifting its crest to challenge the deep 

Hush of Eternity. 

Still for a moment they stand, 

Massed on the sun's red death, 
A surge of bronze, too great, too grand, 

To endure for more than a breath. 

Only the billow and stream 

Of muscle and flank and mane 
Like darkling mountain-cataracts gleam 

Gripped in a Titan's rein. 

Once more from the furrow's end 

They wheel to the fallow lea. 
And down the muffled slope descend 

To the sleeping sea. 

And the fibrous knots of clay. 

And the sun-dried clots of earth 
Cleave, and the sunset cloaks the grey 

Waste and the stony dearth! 

0, broad and dusky and sweet, 

The sunset covers the weald; 
But my dreams are waving with golden wheat 

In a still strange field. 

My soul, my soul lies bare, 

Between the hills and the sea; 
Come, ploughman Death, with thy sharp ploughshare, 

And plough the field for me. 



RANK AND FILE 
THE BANNER 

Who in the gorgeous vanguard of the years 
With winged helmet gUstens, let him hold 

Ere he pluck down this banner, crying "It bears 
An old device"; for, though it seem the old, 

It is the new! No rent shroud of the past. 
But its transfigured spirit that still shines 
Triumphantly before the foremost lines. 

Even from the first prophesying the last. 

And whoso dreams to pluck it down shall stand 
Bewildered, while the great host thunders by; 

And he shall show the rent shroud in his hand 
And "Lo, I lead the van!" he still shall cry; 

While leagues away, the spirit-banner shines 
Rushing in triumph before the foremost lines. 



RANK AND FILE 

I 

Drum-taps! Drum-taps! Who is it marching, 
Marching past in the night? Ah, hark, 
Draw your curtains aside and see 
Endless ranks of the stars o'er-arching 
Endless ranks of an army marching. 
Marching out of the measureless dark, 
Marching away to Eternity. 

II 

See the gleam of the white sad faces 
Moving steadily, row on row, 

Marching away to their hopeless wars: 
Drum-taps, drum-taps, where are they marching? 
Terrible, beautiful, human faces, 

Common as dirt, but softer than snow. 
Coarser than clay, but calm as the stars. 



RANK AND FILE 

III 

Is it the last rank readily, steadily 

Swinging away to the unknown doom? 
Ere you can think it, the drum-taps beat 
Louder, and here they come marching, marching, 
Great new level locked ranks of them readily 
Steadily swinging out of the gloom 
Marching endlessly down the street. 



IV 

Unregarded imperial regiments 

White from the roaring intricate places 
Deep in the maw of the world's machine. 
Well content, they are marching, marching, 
Unregarded imperial regiments, 
Ay, and there are those terrible faces 
Great world-heroes that might have been. 



Hints and facets of One — the Eternal, 

Faces of grief, compassion and pain, 

Faces of hunger, faces of stone, 

Faces of love and of labour, marching. 

Changing facets of One — the Eternal, 

Streaming up thro' the wind and the rain, 
All together and each alone. 



VI 

You that doubt of the world's one Passion, 
You for whose science the stars are a-stray. 
Hark — to their orderly thunder-tread! 
These, in the night, with the stars are marching 
One to the end of the world's one Passion! 
You that have taken their Master away. 
Where have you laid Him, living or dead? 



8 RANK AND FILE 

VII 

You whose laws have hidden the One Law, 
You whose searchings obscure the goal, 
You whose systems from chaos begun, 
Chance-born, order-less, hark, they are marching, 
Hearts and tides and stars to the One Law, 
Measured and orderly, rhythmical, whole, 
Multitudinous, welded and one. 



VIII 

Split your threads of the seamless purple. 
Round you marches the world-wide host, 
Round your skies is the marching sky, 
Out in the night there's an army marching. 
Clothed with the night's own seamless purple, 
Making death for the King their boast. 
Marching straight to Eternity. 



IX 

What do you know of the shot-riddled banners 
Royally surging out of the gloom. 
You whose denials their souls despise? 
Out in the night they are marching, marching! 
Treasure your wisdom, and leave them their banners! 
Then — when you follow them down to the tomb 
Pray for one glimpse of the faith in their eyes. 



X 

Pray for one gleam of the white sad faces, 
Moving steadily, row on row. 

Marching away to their hopeless wars, 
Doomed to be trodden like dung, but marching, 
Terrible, beautiful human faces, 

Common as dirt, but softer than snow, 
Coarser than clay, but calm as the stars. 



RANK AND FILE 

XI 

What of the end? Will your knowledge escape it? 

What 01 the end of their dumb dark tears? 
You who mock at their faith and sing, 
Look, for their ragged old banners are marching 
Down to the end — will your knowledge escape it? — ■ 

Down to the end of a few brief years! 

What should they care for the wisdom you bring. 



XII 

Count as they pass, their hundreds, thousands, 
Millions, marching away to a doom 
Younger than London, older that Tyre! 
Drum-taps, drum-taps, where are they marching, 
Regiments, nations, empires, marching? 
Down thro' the jaws of a world-wide tomb, 
Doomed or ever they sprang from the mire! 



XIII 

Doomed to be shovelled like dung to the midden, 
Trodden and kneaded as clay in the road, 
Father and little one, lover and friend, 
Out in the night they are marching, marching, 
Doomed to be shovelled like dung to the midden. 
Bodies that bowed beneath Christ's own load, 
Love that — marched to the self-same end. 



XIV 

What of the end? — 0, not of your glory. 

Not of your wealth or your fame that will live 
Half as long as this pellet of dust! — 
Out in the night there's an army marching, 
Nameless, noteless, empty of glory. 
Ready to suffer and die and forgive. 
Marching onward in simple trust. 



10 RANK AND FILE 

XV 

Wearing their poor little toy love-tokens 
Under the march of the terrible skies! 
Is it a jest for a God to play? — 
Whose is the jest of these millions marching, 
Wearing their poor little toy love-tokens, 
Waving their voicelessly grand good-byes, 
Secretly trying, sometimes, to pray. 

XVI 

Dare you dream their trust in Eternity 
Broken, O you to whom prayers are vain, 
You who dream that their God is dead? 
Take your answer — these millions marching 
Out of Eternity, into Eternity, 

These that smiled "We shall meet again," 
Even as the life from their loved one fled. 



XVII 

This is the answer, not of the sages, 
Not of the loves that are ready to part, 
Ready to find their oblivion sweet! 
Out in the night there's an army marching. 
Men that have toiled thro' the endless ages. 
Men of the pit and the desk and the mart, 
Men that remember, the men in the street, 



XVIII 

These that into the gloom of Eternity 

Stream thro' the dream of this lamp-starred town 
London, an army of clouds to-night! 
These that of old came marching, marching. 
Out of the terrible gloom of Eternity, 
Bowing their heads at Rameses' frown. 
Streaming away thro' Babylon's light; 



THE SKY-LARK CAGED 11 



XIX 

These that swept at the sound of the trumpet 
Out thro' the night hke gonfaloned clouds, 
Exiled hosts when the world was Rome, 
Tossing their tattered old eagles, marching 
Down to sleep till the great last trumpet, 
London, Nineveh, rend your shrouds, 
Rally the legions and lead them home, 

XX 

Lead them home with their glorious faces 
Moving steadily, row on row 

Marching up from the end of wars, 
Out of the Valley of Shadows, marching, 
Terrible, beautiful, human faces, 

Common as dirt, but softer than snow, 
Coarser than clay, but calm as the stars, 

XXI 

Marching out of the endless ages, 
Marching out of the dawn of time, 
Endless columns of unknown men. 
Endless ranks of the stars o'er-arching 
Endless ranks of an army marching 
Numberless out of the numberless ages, 
Men out of every race and clime, 
Marching steadily, now as then. 



THE SKY-LARK CAGED ^ 

I 

Beat, little breast, against the wires. 

Strive, little wings and misted eyes 
Which one wild gleam of memory fires 

Beseeching still the unfettered skies. 
Whither at dev/y dawn you sprang 
Quivering with joy from this dark earth and sang. 



12 THE SKY-LARK CAGED 

II 

And still you sing — your narrow cage 

Shall set at least your music free! 
Its rapturous wings in glorious rage 

Mount and are lost in liberty, 
While those who caged you creep on earth 
Blind prisoners from the hour that gave them birth. 

Ill 

Sing! The great City surges round. 

Blinded with light, thou canst not know. 
Dream! 'Tis the fir- woods' windy sound 

Rolling a psalm of praise below. 
Sing, o'er the bitter dust and shame, 
And touch us with thine own transcendent flame. 

IV 

Sing, o'er the City dust and slime; 

Sing, o'er the squalor and the gold, 
The greed that darkens earth with crime, 

The spirits that are bought and sold. 
O, shower the healing notes like rain. 
And lift us to the height of grief again. 

V 

Sing! The same music swells your breast, 
And the wild notes are still as sweet 

As when above the fragrant nest 

And the wide billowing fields of wheat 

You soared and sang the livelong day. 

And in the light of heaven dissolved away. 

VI 

The light of heaven! Is it not here? 

One rapture, one ecstatic joy. 
One passion, one sublime despair. 

One grief which nothing can destroy, 
You — though your dying eyes are wet 
Remember, 'tis our blunted hearts forget. 



THE LOVERS' FLIGHT 13 

VII 

Beat, little breast, still beat, still beat, 
Strive, misted eyes and tremulous wings; 

Swell, little throat, your Sweet! Sweet! Sweet! 
Thro' which such deathless memory rings: 

Better to break your heart and die. 

Than, like your gaolers, to forget your sky. 



THE LOVERS' FLIGHT 



Come, the dusk is lit with flowers! 

Quietly take this guiding hand: 
Little breath to waste is ours 

On the road to lovers' land. 
Time is in his dungeon-keep! 

Ah, not thither, lest he hear, 
Starting from his old grey sleep, 

Rosy feet upon the stair. 



II 



Ah, not thither, lest he heed 

Ere we reach the rusty door! 
Nay, the stairways only lead 

Back to his dark world once more: 
There's a merrier way we know 

Leading to a lovelier night — 
See, your casement all a-glow 

Diamonding the wonder-light. 

Ill 

Fling the flowery lattice wide, 

Let the silken ladder down, 
Swiftly to the garden glide 

Glimmering in your long white gown, 



14 THE LOVERS' FLIGHT 

Rosy from your pillow, sweet, 
Come, unsandalled and divine; 

Let the blossoms stain your feet 
And the stars behold them shine. 



IV 

Swift, our pawing palfreys wait, 

And the page — Dan Cupid — frets. 
Holding at the garden gate 

Reins that chime like castanets, 
Bits a-foam with fairy flakes 

Flung from seas whence Venus rose: 
Come, for Father Time awakes 

And the star of morning glows. 



V 



Swift — one satin foot shall sway 

Half a heart-beat in my hand, 
Swing to stirrup and swift away 

Down the road to lovers' land: 
Ride — the moon is dusky gold, 

Ride — our hearts are young and warm, 
Ride — the hour is growing old. 

And the next may break the charm. 



^^I 



Swift, ere we that thought the song 

Full — for others — of the truth. 
We that smiled, contented, strong, 

Dowered with endless wealth of youth. 
Find that like a summer cloud 

Youth indeed has crept away, 
Find the robe a clinging shroud 

And the hair be-sprent with grey. 



THE LOVERS' FLIGHT 15 

VII 

Ride — we'll leave it all behind, 

All the turmoil and the tears, 
All the mad vindictive blind 

Yelping of the heartless years! 
Ride — the ringing world's in chase, 

Yet we've slipped old Father Time, 
By the love-light in your face 

And the jingle of this rhyme. 

VIII 

Ride — for still the hunt is loud! 

Ride — our steeds can hold their own! 
Yours, a satin sea-wave, proud, 

Queen, to be your living throne, 
Glittering with the foam and fire 

Churned from seas whence Venus rose, 
Tow'rds the gates of our desire 

Gloriously burning flows. 



IX 

He, with streaming flanks a-smoke. 

Needs no spur of blood-stained steel: 
Only that soft thudding stroke 

Once, o' the little satin heel, 
Drives his mighty heart, your slave. 

Bridled with these bells of rhyme, 
Onward, like a crested wave 

Thundering out of hail of Time. 



X 

On, till from a rosy spark 

Fairy-small as gleams your hand, 
Broadening as we cleave the dark. 

Dawn the gates of lovers' land, 



16 THE ROCK POOL 

Nearing, sweet, till breast and brow 
Lifted through the purple night 

Catch the deepening glory now 
And your eyes the wonder-light. 



XI 

E'en as tow'rd your face I lean 

Swooping nigh the gates of bliss, 
I the king and you the queen 

Crown each other with a kiss. 
Riding, soaring like a song 

Burn we tow'rds the heaven above, 
You the sweet and I the strong 

And in both the fire of love. 

XII 

Ride — though now the distant chase 

Knows that we have slipped old Time, 
Lift the love-light of your face, 

Shake the bridle of this rhyme, 
See, the flowers of night and day 

Streaming past on either hand, 
Ride into the eternal May, 

Ride into the lovers' land. 



THE ROCK POOL 



Bright as a fallen fragment of the sky, 

Mid sheU-encrusted rocks the sea-pool shone, 

Glassing the sunset-clouds in its clear heart, 

A small enchanted world enwalled apart 
In diamond mystery, 

Content with its own dreams, its own strict zone 
Of urchin woods, its fairy bights and bars, 
Its daisy-disked anemones and rose-feathered stars. 



THE ROCK POOL 17 

II 

Forsaken for awhile by that deep roar 

Which works in storm and calm the eternal will, 

Drags down the cliffs, bids the great hills go by 

And shepherds their multitudinous pageantry, — 
Here, on this ebb-tide shore 

A jewelled bath of beauty, sparkling still, 
The little sea-pool smiled away the sea. 
And slept on its own plane of bright tranquillity. 



Ill 



A self-sufficing soul, a pool in trance, 

Un-stirred by all the spirit-winds that blow 

From o'er the guKs of change, content, ere yet 

On its own crags, which rough peaked limpets fret 
The last rich colours glance, 

Content to mirror the sea-bird's wings of snow, 
Or feel in some small creek, ere sunset fails, 
A tiny Nautilus hoist its lovely purple sails; 



IV 



And, furrowing into pearl that rosy bar, 
SaU its own soul from fairy fringe to fringe, 

Lured by the twinkling prey 'twas born to reach 

In its own pool, by many an elfin beach 
Of jewels, adventuring far 

Through the last mirrored cloud and sunset-tinge 
And past the rainbow-dripping cave where lies 
The dark green pirate-crab at watch with beaded eyes, 

2 



18 THE ROCK POOL 

V 

Or fringed Medusa floats like light in light, 

Medusa, with the loveliest of all fays 
Pent in its irised bubble of jellied sheen. 
Trailing long ferns of moonlight, shot with green 

And crimson rays and white. 
Waving ethereal tendrils, ghostly sprays. 
Daring the deep, dissolving in the sun. 
The vanishing point of life, the light whence life 
begun. 



VI 

Poised between Tile, light, time, eternity, 

So tinged with all, that in its delicate brain 
Kindling it as a lamp with her bright wings 
Day-long, night-long, young Ariel sits and sings 

Echoing the lucid sea. 
Listening it echo her o^ti unearthly strain. 

Watching through lucid walls the world's rich tide. 
One light, one substance with her own, rise and 
subside. 



VII 

And over soft brown woods, limpid, serene. 

Puffing its fans the Nautilus went its way, 
And from a hundred salt and weedy shelves 
Peered little horned faces of sea-elves : 
The prawn darted, half-seen. 
Thro' watery sunlight, like a pale green ray. 
And all around, from soft green waving bowers. 
Creatures like fruit out-crept from fluted shells like 
flowers. 



THE ROCK POOL 19 

I VIII 

And, over all, that glovv'ing mirror spread 

The splendour of its heaven-reflecting gleams, 
A level wealth of tints, calm as the sky- 
That broods above our own mortality: 

The temporal seas had fled, 
And ah, what hopes, what fears, what mystic dreams 
Could ruffle it now from any deeper deep? 
Content in its own bounds it slept a changeless sleep. 



IX 



Suddenly, from that heaven beyond belief, 
Suddenly, from that world beyond its ken. 

Dashing great billows o'er its rosy bars, 

Shivering its dreams into a thousand stars. 
Flooding each, sun-dried reef 

With waves of colour, (as once, for mortal men 
Bethesda's angel) with blue eyes, wide and wild. 
Naked into the pool there stepped a little child. 



X 



Her red-gold hair against the far green sea 

Blew thickly out: her slender golden form 
Shone dark against the richly waning West 
As with one hand she splashed her glistening breast. 

Then waded up to her knee 
And frothed the whole pool into a fairy storm ! . . . 
So, stooping through our skies, of old, there came 
Angels that once could set this world's dark pool 
a-flame, 



/ 

/ 



20 THE ISLAND HAWK 

XI 

From which the seas of faith have ebbed away, 
Leaving the lonely shore too bright, too bare, 
While mirrored softly in the smooth wet sand 
A deeper sunset sees its blooms expand 

But all too phantom-fair, 
Between the dark brown rocks and sparkling spray 
Where the low ripples pleaded, shrank and sighed. 
And tossed a moment's rainbow heavenward ere they 
died. 



XII 

Stoop, starry souls, incline to this dark coast. 

Where all too long, too faithlessly, we dream. 
Stoop to the world's dark pool, its crags and scars, 
Its yellow sands, its rosy harbour-bars. 

And soft green wastes that gleam 
But with some glorious drifting god-like ghost 
Of cloud, some vaguelj'' passionate crimson stain: 
Rend the blue waves of heaven,- shatter our sleep 
again! 



THE ISLAND HAWK 

(a song for the first launching of his 
majesty's aerial navy) 



Chorus — • 

Ships have swept with my conquering name 

Over the waves of war, 
Swept thro' the Spaniards' thunder and flame 

To the splendour of Trafalgar: 
On the blistered decks of their great renown, 



THE ISLAND HAWK 21 

In the wind of my storm-heat ivmgs, 
Hawkins and Hawke xvent sailing down 
To the harbour of deep-sea kings! 

By the storm-beat wings of the haivk, the hawk, 

Bene beak and pitiless breast, 
They clove their way thro' the red sea-fray: 
Who wakens me now to the quest? 



II 

Hushed are the whimpering winds on the hill, 

Dumb is the shrinking plain, 
And the songs that enchanted the woods are still 

As I shoot to the skies again! 
Does the blood grow black on my fierce bent beak. 

Does the down still cling to my claw? 
Who brightened these eyes for the prey they seek? 
Life, I follov/ thy law! 

For I am the hawk, the hawk, the hawk! 

Who knoweth my pitiless breast? 
Who watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way? 
\ Flee — flee — for I quest, I quest. 



Ill 

As I glide and glide with my peering head, 

Or swerve at a puff of smoke, 
Who watcheth my wings on the wind outspread, 

Here — gone — with an instant stroke? 
Who toucheth the glory of life I feel 

As I buffet this great glad gale, 
Spire and spire to the cloud-world, wheel, 
Loosen my wings and sail? 

For I am the hawk, the island hawk. 
Who knoweth my pitiless breast? 
Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way? 
Flee — fiee — for I quest, I quest. 



22 THE ISLAND HAWK 

IV 

Had they given me "Cloud-cuckoo-city" to guard 

Between mankind and the sky, 
Tho' the dew might shine on an April sward, 

Iris had ne'er passed by! 
Swift as her beautiful wings might be 

From the rosy Olympian hill, 
Had Epops entrusted the gates to me 
Earth were his kingdom still. 

For I am the hawk, the archer, the hawk! 

V/ho knoweth my pitiless breast? 
Who watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way 
Flee — flee — for I quest, I quest. 



My mate in the nest on the high bright tree 

Blazing "udth da'wn and dew, 
She knoweth the gleam of the world and the glee 

As I drop like a bolt from the blue; 
She knoweth the fire of the level flight 
As I skim, close, close to the ground, 
With the long grass lashing my breast and the bright 
Dew-drops flashing around. 

She watcheth the hawk, the hawk, the hawk, 

{0, the red-blotched eggs in the nest!) 
Watcheth him sivay in the sun's bright way; 
Flee — flee — for I quest, I quest. 



VI 



She builded her nest on the high bright wold, 

She was taught in a world afar. 
The lore that is only an April old 

Yet old as the evening star; 



THE ISLAND HAWK 23 

Life of a far off ancient day 

In an hour unhooded her eyes; 
In the time of the budding of one green spray 
She was wise as the stars are wise. 

Brown flower of the tree of the hawk, the hawk, 

On the old elm's burgeoning breast, 
She watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way; 
Flee — flee — for I quest, I quest. 



VII 

Spirit and sap of the sweet swift Spring, 

Fire of our island soul, 
Burn in her breast and pulse in her wing 

While the endless ages roll; 
Avatar — she — of the perilous pride 
That plundered the golden West, 
Her glance is a sword, but it sweeps too wide 
For a rumour to trouble her rest. 

She goeth her glorious way, the hawk. 

She nurseth her brood alone; 
She will not swoop for an owlet's whoop, 
She hath calls and cries of her own. 



VIII 

There was never a dale in our isle so deep 

That her wide wings were not free 
To soar to the sovran heights and keep 

Sight of the rolling sea : 
Is it there, is it here in the rolling skies, 

The realm of her future fame? 
Look once, look once in her glittering eyes, 
Ye shall find her the same, the same. 

Up to the skies with the hawk, the hawk, 

As it was in the days of old! 
Ye shall sail once more, ye shall soar, ye shall 
soar 
To the new-found realms of gold. 



24 THE ISLAND HAWK 

IX 

She hath ridden on white Arabian steeds 

Thro' the ringing English dells, 
For the joy of a great queen, hunting in state, 

To the music of golden bells; 
A queen's fair fingers have drawn the hood 

And tossed her aloft in the blue, 
A white hand eager for needless blood; 
I hunt for the needs of two. 

Yet I am the hawk, the hawk, the hawk! 

Who knoweth my pitiless breast? 
Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright wayl 
Flee — flee — for I quest, I quest. 



X 



Who fashioned her wide and splendid eyes 

That have stared in the eyes of kings f 
With a silken twist she was looped to their wrist: 

She has clawed at their jewelled rings! 
Who flung her first thro' the crimson dawn 

To pluck him a prey from the skies, 
When the love-light shone upon lake and lawn 
In the valleys of Paradise? 

Who fashioned the haivk, the hawk, the hawk, 

Bent beak and pitiless breast? 
Who watcheth him sway in the wild wind's way? 
Flee — flee — for I quest, I quest. 



XI 



Is there ever a song in all the world 

Shall say how the quest began 
With the beak and the wings that have made us kings 

And cruel — almost — as man? 



THE ISLAND HAWK 25 

The wild wind whimpers across the heath 

Where the sad little tufts of blue 
And the red-stained grey little feathers of death 
Flutter! Who fashioned us? Who? 

Who fashioned the scimitar wings of the hawk, 

Bent beak and arroivy breast? 
Who watcheth him sway in the sun's bright way? 
Flee — flee — for I quest, I quest. 



XII 

Linnet and woodpecker, red-cap and jay, 

Shriek that a doom shall fall 
One day, one day, on my pitiless way 

From the sky that is over us all; 
But the great blue hawk of the heavens above 

Fashioned the world for his prey, — 
King and queen and hawk and dove, 
We shall meet in his clutch that day; 
Shall I not welcome him, I, the hawk? 

Yea, cry, as they shrink from his claw, 
Cry, as I die, to the unknown sky, 
Life, I follow thy law! 



XIII 

Chorus — ■ 

'Ships have sivept with my conquering name . . ". . 

Over the world and beyond, 
Hark! Bellerophon, Marlborough, Thunderer, 

Condor, respond! — 
On the blistered decks of their dread renown, 

In the rush of my storm-beat wings, 
Hawkins and Hawke went sailing down 
To the glory of deep-sea kings! 

By the storrn-beat wings of the hawk, the hawk, 

Bent beak and pitiless breast. 
They clove their way thro' the red sea-fray! 
Who waJcens me now to the quest. 



26 THE ADMIRAL'S GHOST 

THE ADMIRAL'S GHOST 

I TELL you a tale to-night 

Which a seaman told to me, 
With eyes that gleamed in the lanthorn light 

And a voice as low as the sea. 

You could almost hear the stars 

Twinkling up in the sky, 
And the old wind woke and moaned in the spars, 

And the same old waves went by, 

Singing the same old song 

As ages and ages ago, 
While he froze my blood in that deep-sea night 

With the things that he seemed to know. 

A bare foot pattered on deck; 

Ropes creaked; then — all grew still, 
And he pointed his finger straight in my face 

And growled, as a sea-dog will. 

"Do' ee know who Nelson was? 

That pore little shrivelled form 
With the patch on his eye and the pinned-up sleeve 

And a soul like a North Sea storm? 

"Ask of the Devonshire men! 

They know, and they'll tell you true; 
He wasn't the pore little chawed-up chap 

That Hardy thought he knew. 

"He wasn't the man you think! 

His patch was a dern disguise! 
For he knew that they'd find him out, d'you see, ; 

If they looked him in both his eyes. 

"He was twice as big as he seemed; 

But his clothes were cunninglj^ m.ade. 
He'd both of his hairy arms all right! 

The sleeve was a trick of the trade. 



THE ADMIRAL'S GHOST 27 

"You've heard of sperrits, no doubt; 

Well, there's more in the matter than that! 
But he wasn't the patch and he wasn't the sleeve, 

And he wasn't the laced cocked-hat. 

"Nelson tuas just — a Glvod! 

You may laugh! But the Devonshire men 
They knew that he'd come when England called, 

And they know that he'll come again. 

" I'll tell you the way it was 

(For none of the landsmen know), 
And to tell it you right, you must go a-starn 

Two hundred years or so. 



" The waves were lapping and slapping 

The same as they are to-day ; 
And Drake lay dying aboard his ship 

In Nombre Dios Bay. 

" The scent of the foreign flowers 

Came floating all around; 
'But I'd give my soul for the smell o' the pitch,' 

Says he, 'in Plymouth Sound. 

" 'What shaU I do,' he says, 

'When the guns begin to roar. 
An' England wants me, and me not there 

To shatter 'er foes once more?' 

" (You've heard what he said, maybe. 
But I'll mark you the p'ints again; 

For I want you to box your compass right 
And get my story plain.) 

" 'You must take my drum,' he says, 

'To the old sea-wall at home; 
And if ever you strike that drum,' he says, 

' Why, strike me blind, I'll come ! 



28 . THE ADMIRAL'S GHOST 

" 'If England needs me, dead 

Or living, I'll rise that day! 
I'll rise from the darkness under the sea 

Ten thousand miles away.' 

"That's what he said; and he died; 

An' his pirates, listenin' roun', 
With their crimson doublets and jewelled swords 

That flashed as the sun went down, 

*'They sewed him up in his shroud 

With a round-shot top and toe, 
To sink him under the salt sharp sea 

Where all good seamen go. 

"They lowered him down in the deep, 

And there in the sunset light 
They boomed a broadside over his grave, 

As meanin' to say 'Good-night.' 

"They sailed away in the dark 
To the dear little isle they knew; 

And they hung his drum by the old sea-wall 
The same as he told them to. 



"Two hundred years went by, 

And the guns began to roar, 
And England was fighting hard for her life, 

As ever she fought of yore. 

"'It's only my dead that count,' 

She said, as she says to-day; 
'It isn't the ships and it isn't the guns 

'Ull sweep Trafalgar's Bay.' 

"D'you guess who Nelson was? 

You may laugh, but it's true as true! 
There was more in that pore little chawed-up chap 

Than ever his best friend knew. 



EDINBURGH 29 

"The foe was creepin' close, 

In the dark, to our white-cliff ed isle; 
They were ready to leap at England's throat, 

When — 0, you may smile, j'-ou may smile; 

"But — ask of the Devonshire men; 

For they heard in the dead of night 
The roll of a drum, and they saw Mm pass 

On a ship all shining white. 

"He stretched out his dead cold face 

And he sailed in the grand old way! 
The fishes had taken an eye and his arm, 

But he swept Trafalgar's Bay. 

"Nelson — was Francis Drake! 

O, what matters the uniform, 
Or the patch on your eye or your pinned-up sleeve. 

If your soul's like a North Sea storm?" 



EDINBURGH 



City of mist and rain and blown grey spaces. 

Dashed with wild wet colour and gleam of tears, 
Dreaming in Holyrood halls of the passionate faces 

Lifted to one Queen's face that has conquered the years, 
Are not the halls of thy memory haunted places? 

Cometh there not as a moon (where the blood-rust sears 
Floors a-flutter of old with silks and laces). 

Gliding, a ghostly Queen, thro' a mist of tears? 



II 

Proudly here, with a loftier pinnacled splendour. 
Throned in his northern Athens, what spells remain 

Still on the marble lips of the Wizard, and render 
Silent the gazer on glory without a stain! 



Z' 



30 IN A RAILWAY CARRIAGE 

Here and here, do we whisper, with hearts more tender, 

Tusitala wandered thro' mist and rain; 
Rainbow-eyed and frail and gallant and slender, 

Dreaming of pirate-isles in a jewelled main. 



Ill 

Up the Canongate climbeth, cleft asunder 

Raggedly here, with a glimpse of the distant sea 
Flashed through a crumbling alley, a glimpse of wonder. 

Nay, for the City is throned on Eternity! 
Hark! from the soaring castle a cannon's thunder 

Closeth an hour for the world and an aeon for me, 
Gazing at last from the martial heights whereunder 

Deathless memories roll to an ageless sea. 



IN A RAILWAY CARRIAGE 

Three long isles of sunset-cloud. 

Poised in an ocean of gold, 
Floated away in the west 

As the long train southward rolled; 

And through the gleam and shade of the panes, 
While meadow and wood went by. 

Across the streaming earth 
We watched the steadfast sky. 

Dark before the westward window. 

Heavy and bloated, rolled 
The face of a drunken woman 

Nodding against the gold; 

Dark before the infinite glory. 

With bleared and leering eyes, 
It stupidly lurched and nodded 

Against the tender skies. 



IN A RAILWAY CARRIAGE 31 

What had ye done to her, masters of men, 

That Jier head be boioed down thus — 
Thus for your golden vespers, 

And deepening angelusf 

Dark, besotted, malignant, vacant, 

Slobbering, viTinkled, old, 
Weary and wickedly smiling, 

She nodded against the gold. 

Pitiful, loathsome, maudlin, lonely, 

Her moist, inhuman eyes 
Blinked at the flies on the window, 

And could not see the skies. 



As a beast that turns and returns to a mirror 

And will not see its face. 
Her eyes rejected the sunset. 

Her soul lay dead in its place, 

Dead in the furrows and folds of her flesh 
As a corpse lies lapped in the shroud; 

Silently floated beside her 
The isles of sunset-cloud. 

What had ye done to her, years upon years, 
That her head should be bowed down thus — 

Thus for your golden vespers. 
And deepening angelus? 

Her nails were blackened and split with labour, 

Her back was heavily bowed; 
Silently floated beside her 

The isles of sunset-cloud. 

Over their tapering streaks of lilac, 

In breathless depths afar. 
Bright as the tear of an angel 

Glittered a lonely star. 



32 AN EAST-END COFFEE-STALL 

While the hills and the streams of the world went past us, 

And the long train roared and rolled 
^Southward, and dusk was falling, 

She nodded against the gold. 



AN EAST-END COFFEE-STALL 

Down the dark alley a ring of orange light 
Glows. God, what leprous tatters of distress, 
Droppings of misery, rags of Thy loneliness 

Quiver and heave like vermin, out of the night! 

Like crippled rats, creeping out of the gloom, 
O Life, for one of thy terrible moments there. 
Lit by the little flickering yellow flare. 

Faces that mock at life and death and doom. 

Faces that long, long since have known the worst. 
Faces of women that have seen the child 
Waste in their arms, and strangely, terribly, smiled 

When the dark nipple of death has eased its thirst; 

Faces of men that once, though long ago. 
Saw the faint light of hope, though far away, — 
Hope that, at end of some tremendous day, 

They yet might reach some life where tears could flow; 

Faces of our humanity, ravaged, white. 

Wrenched with old love, old hate, older despair, 
Steal out of vile filth-dropping dens to stare 

On that wild monstrance of a naphtha light. 

They crowd before the stall's bright altar rail. 
Grotesque, and sacred, for that light's brief span, 
And all the shuddering darkness cries, "All hail. 

Daughters and Sons of Man!" 



RED OF THE DAWN 33 

See, see, once more, though all their souls be dead, 
They hold it up, triumphantly hold it up. 
They feel, they warm their hands upon the Cup; 

Their crapulous hands, their claw-like hands break Bread! 

See, with lean faces rapturously a-glow 

For a brief while they dream and munch and drink; 

Then, one by one, once more, silently slink 
Back, back into the gulfing mist. They go, 

One by one, out of the ring of light! 

They creep, like crippled rats, into the gloom, 

Into the fogs of life and death and doom, 
Into the night, the immeasurable night. 



sj 



RED OF THE DAWN 
I 



The Dawn peered in with blood-shot eyes 
Pressed close against the cracked old pane. 
The garret slept: the slow sad rain 

Had ceased: grey fogs obscured the skies; 

But Dawn peered in with haggard eyes. 

II 

All as last night? The three-legged chair, 

The bare walls and the tattered bed, 

All ! — but for those wild flakes of red 

(And Dawn, perhaps, had splashed them there!) 

Round the bare walls, the bed, the chair. 

Ill 

'Twas here, last night, when winds were loud, 
A ragged singing-girl, she came 
Out of the tavern's glare and shame. 
With some few pence — for she was proud — 
Came home to sleep, when winds were loud. 

3 



RED OF THE DAWN 
IV 

And she sleeps well; for she was tired! 
That huddled shape beneath the sheet 
With knees up-drawn, no wind or sleet 

Can wake her now! Sleep she desired; 

And she sleeps well, for she was tired. 



And there was one that followed her 

With some unhappy curse called "love": 
Last night, though winds beat loud above, 
She shrank! Hark, on the creaking stair, 
What stealthy footstep followed her? 



VI 

But now the Curse, it seemed, had gone! 
The small tin-box, wherein she hid 
Old childish treasures, had burst its lid. 
Dawn kissed her doll's cracked face. It shone 
Red-smeared, but laughing — the Curse is gone. 



VII 

So she sleeps well: she does not move; 
And on the wall, the chair, the bed. 
Is it the Dawn that splashes red. 
High as the text where God is Love 
Hangs o'er her head? She does not move. 



VIII 

The clock dictates its old refrain: 
All else is quiet; or, far away, 
Shaking the world with new-born day, 

There thunders past some mighty train; 

The clock dictates its old refrain. 



THE DREAM-CHILD'S INVITATION 35 

IX 

The Dawn peers in with blood-shot eyes: 

The crust, the broken cup are there! 

She does not rise yet to prepare 
Her scanty meal. God does not rise 

And pluck the blood-stained sheet from her; 
But Dawn peers in with haggard eyes. 



THE DREAM-CHILD'S INVITATION 



Once upon a time! — Ah, now the light is burning dimly. 

Peterkin is here again: he wants another tale! 
Don't you hear him whispering — The wind is in the chimley, 

The ottoman's a treasure-ship, we'll all set sail? 



II 

All set sail? No, the wind is very loud to-night: 

The darkness on the waters is much deeper than of yore. 

Yet I wonder — hark, he whispers — if the little streets are still 
as bright 
In old Japan, in old Japan, that happy haunted shore. 



Ill 

I wonder — hush, he whispers — if perhaps the world will wake 
again 
When Christmas brings the stories back from where the 
skies are blue, 
Wliere clouds are scattering diamonds down on every cottage 
window-pane, 
And every boy's a fairy prince, and every tale is true. 



36 THE DREAM-CHILD'S INVITATION 

IV 

There the sword Excalibur is thrust into the dragon's throat, 
Evil there is evil, black is black, and white is white: 

There the child triumphant hurls the villain spluttering into 
the moat; 
There the captured princess only waits the peerless knight. 



Fairyland is gleaming there beyond the Sherwood Forest 
trees, 

There the City of the Clouds has anchored on the plain 
All her misty vistas and slumber-rosy palaces 

{Shall we not, ah, sMll we not, wander there again?) 



VI 

"Happy ever after" there, the lights of home a welcome fling 
Softly thro' the darkness as the star that shone of old, 

Softly over Bethlehem and o'er the little cradled King 

Whom the sages worshipped with their frankincense and 
gold. 



VII 

Once upon a time — perhaps a hundred thousand years ago — 
Whisper to me, Peterkin, I have forgotten when ! 

Once upon a time there was a way, a way we used to know 
For stealing off at twilight from the weary ways of men. 



VIII 

Whisper it, whisper it — the way, the way is all I need! 

All the heart and will are here and all the deep desire! 
Once ufon a time — ah, now the light is drawing near indeed, 

I see the fairy faces flush to roses round the fire. 



THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 37 

IX 

Once upon a time — the little lips are on my cheek again, 
Little fairy fingers clasped and clinging draw me nigh, 
Dreams, no more than dreams, but they unloose the weary 
prisoner's chain 
And lead him from his dungeon! "What's a thousand 
years?" they cry. 

X 

A thousand years, a thousand years, a little drifting dream ago. 

All of us were hunting with a band of merry men, 
The skies were blue, the boughs were green, the clouds were 
crisping isles of snow . . . 
... So Robin blew his bugle, and the Now became the 
Then. 



THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 

(an episode in the life of a corn-flower millionaire) 



All the way to Fairyland across the thyme and heather,/ 

Round a little bank of fern that rustled on the sky, ' 
Me and stick and bundle, sir, we jogged along together, — 

(Changeable the weather? Well — it ain't all pie!) 
Just about the sunset — Won't you listen to my story? — 

Look at me! I'm only rags and tatters to your eye! 
Sir, that blooming sunset crowned this battered hat with glory I 

Me that was a crawling worm became a butterfly — 
(Ain't it hot and dry? 

Thank you, sir, thank you, sir!) a blooming butterfly. 

II 

Well, it happened this way! I was lying loose and lazy. 
Just as, of a Sunday, you yourself might think no shame, 

Puffing little clouds of smoke, and picking at a daisy, 

Dreaming of your dinner, p'raps, or wishful for the same: 



38 THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 

Suddenly, arou'nd that ferny bank there slowly waddled — 
Slov/ly as the finger of a clock her shadow came — 

Slowly as a tortoise down that winding path she toddled, 
Leaning on a crooked staff, a poor old crooked dame, 

Limping, but not lame, 
Tick, tack, tick, tack, a poor old crooked dame. 



Ill 

Slowly did I say, sir? Well, you've heard that funny fable 

Consekint the tortoise and the race it give an 'are? 
This was curiouser than that! At first I wasn't able 

Quite to size the memory up that bristled thro' my hair: 
Suddenly, I'd got it, with a nasty shivery feeling, 

While she walked and walked and yet was not a bit more 
near, — 
Sir, it was the tread-mill earth beneath her feet a-wheeling 
Faster than her feet could trot to heaven or anywhere, 

Earth's revolvin' stair 
Wheeling, while my wayside clump was kind of anchored 
there. 



IV 

Tick, tack, tick, tack, and just a little nearer. 

Inch and 'arf an inch she went, but never gained a yard : 
Quiet as a fox I lay; I didn't wish to scare 'er, 

Watching thro' the ferns, and thinlcing "Wliat a rum old 
card!" 
Both her wi'inkled tortoise eyes with yellow resin oozing. 
Both her poor old bony hands were red and seamed and 
scarred! 
Lord, I felt as if myself was in a public boozing. 

While my own old woman went about and scrubbed and 
charred ! 

Lord, it seemed so hard! 
Tick, tack, tick, tack, she never gained a yard. 



THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 39 

V 

Yus, and there in front of her — I hadn't seen it rightly — 

Lurked that little finger-post to point another road, 
Just a tiny path of poppies twisting infi-nite-ly 

Through the whispering seas of wheat, a scarlet thread that 
showed 
White with ox-eye daisies here and there and chalky cobbles. 

Blue with waving corn-flowers : far and far away it glowed, 
Winding into heaven, I thinks; but. Lord, the way she hobbles, 

Lord, she'll never reach it, for she bears too great a load; 
Yus, and then I knowed. 

If she did, she couldn't, for the board was marked No Road. 



VI 

Tick, tack, tick, tack, I couldn't wait no longer! 

Up I gets and bows polite and pleasant as a toff — 
" Artemoon," I says, "I'm glad your boots are going stronger; 

Only thing I'm dreading is your feet 'uU both come off." 
Tick, tack, tick, tack, she didn't stop to answer, 

" Arternoon," she says, and sort o' chokes a little cough, 
"I must get to Piddinghoe to-morrow if I can, sir!" 

"Demme, my good woman! Haw! Don't think I mean to 
loff,': 

Says I, like a toff, 
" Where d'you mean to sleep to-night? God made this grass 
for go'ff.'^ 



VII 

Tick, tack, tick, tack, and smilingly she eyed me 

(Dreadful the low cunning of these creechars, don't you 
think?) 
"That's all right! The weather's bright. Them bushes there 
'ull hide me. 
Don't the gorse smeU nice?" I felt my derned old eyelids 
bhnk! 



40 THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 

"Supper? I've a crust of bread, a big one, and a bottle," 
(Just as I expected! Ah, these creechars always drink!) 
"Sugar and water and half a pinch of tea to rinse my throttle, 
Then I'll curl up cosy!" — "If you're cotched it means the 
clink!" 

— " Yus, but don't you think 
If a star should see me, God 'ull tell that star to wink?" 



VIII 

"Now, look here," I says, "I don't know what your blooming 
age is!" 
"Three-score years and five," she says, "that's five more 
years to go 
Tick, tack, tick tack, before I gets my wages!" 

"Wages all be damned," I says, "there's one thing that I 
know — 
Gals that stay out late o' nights are sure to meet wi' sorrow. 

Speaking as a toff," I says, "it isn't comme ilfaut! 
Tell me why you want to get to Piddinghoe to-morrow." — 
"That was where my son worked, twenty years ago!" — 

"Twenty years ago? 
Never wrote? May stiU be there? Remember you? 
. . . Just so!',' 



IX 

Yus, it was a drama; but she weren't my long-lost parent! 

Tick, tack, tick, tack, she trotted aU the whUe, 
Never getting forrarder, and not the least aware on't. 

Though I stood beside her with a sort of silly smile 
Stock-still! Tick, tack! This blooming world's a bubble: 

There I stood and stared at it, mile on flowery mile, 
Chasing o' the sunset. — "Gals are sure to meet wi' trouble 

Sta3dng out o' nights," I says, once more, and tries to smile, 
"Come, that ain't your style, 

Here's a shilling, mother, for to-day I've made my pUel'* 



THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 41 

X 

Yus, a dozen coppers, all my capital, it fled, sir, 

Representin' twelve bokays that cost me nothink each, 
Twelve bokays o' corn-flowers blue that grew beside my bed, 
sir. 
That same day, at sunrise, when the sky was like a peach : 
Easy as a poet's dreams they blossomed round my head, sir, 

All I had to do was just to lift my hand and reach: 
So, upon the roaring waves I cast my blooming bread, sir, 
Bread I'd earned with nose-gays on the bare-foot Brighton 
beach. 

Nose-gays a7id a speech, 
All about the bright blue eyes they matched on Brighton 
beach. 



XI 

Still, you've only got to hear the bankers on the budget, 

Then you'll know the giving game is hardly "high finance"; 
Which no more it wasn't for that poor old dame to trudge it. 

Tick, tack, tick, tack, on such a devil's dance: 
Crumbs, it took me quite aback to see her stop so humble, 

Casting up into my face a sort of shiny glance, 
Bless you, bless you, that was what I thought I heard her 
mumble ; 

Lord, a prayer for poor old Bill, a rummy sort of chance! 
Crumbs, that sliiny glance 

Kinder made me king of all the sky from here to France. 



XII 

Tick, tack, tick, tack, but now she toddled faster: 
Soon she'd reach the little twisted by-way through the wheat. 

"Look 'ee here," I says, "young woman, don't you court 
disaster! 
Peepin' through yon poppies there's a cottage trim and neat 



42 THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 

White as chalk and sweet as turf: wot price a bed for sorrow, 

Sprigs of lavender between the pillow and the sheet?" 
"No," she says, "I've got to get to Piddinghoe to-morrow! 
P'raps they'd tell the work'us! And I've lashings here to 
eat: 

Don't the gorse smell sweet?" . , . 
Well, I turned and left her plodding on beside the wheat. 



XIII 

Every cent I'd given her like a hero in a story; 

Yet, alone with leagues of wheat I seemed to grow aware 
Solomon himself, arrayed in all his golden glory. 

Couldn't vie with Me, the corn-flower king, the millionaire! 
How to cash those bright blue cheques that night? My 
trouser pockets 
Jingled sudden! Six more pennies, crept from James knew 
where! 
Crumbs! I hurried back with eyes just bulging from their 
sockets, 
Pushed 'em in the old dame's fist and listened for the prayer. 

Shamming not to care. 
Bill — the blarsted chicken-thief, the corn-flower millionaire. 



XIV 

Tick, tack, tick, tack, and faster yet she clattered! 

Ay, she'd almost gained a yard ! I left her once again. 
Feeling very warm inside and sort of 'ighly flattered. 

On I plodded, all alone, with hay-stacks in my brain. 
Suddenly, with chink — chink — chink, the old sweet jingle 

Startled me! 'Twas thkupfence more! Three coppers 
round and plain! 
Lord, temptation struck me and I felt my gullet tingle. 

Then — I hurried back, beside them seas of golden grain: 
No, I can't explain; 

There I thrust 'em in her fist, and left her once again. 



THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 43 

XV 

Tinkle-chink! Three ha'pence! If the vulgar fractions 
followed, 
Big fleas have little fleas! It flashed upon me there, — 
Like the snakes of Pharaoh which the snakes of Moses 
swallowed 
All the world was playing at the tortoise and the hare: 
Half the smallest atom is — my soul was getting tipsy — 
Heaven is one big circle and the centre's everj'^where, 
Yus, and that old woman was an angel and a gipsy, 

Yus, and Bill, the chicken-thief, the corn-flower millionaire, 

Shamming not to care. 
What was he? A seraph on the misty rainbow-stair 1 



XVI 

Don't you make no doubt of it ! The deeper that you look, 
sir, 
All your ancient poets tell you just the same as me, — 
What about old Ovid and his most indecent book, sir, 
Morphosizing females into flov/er and star and tree? 
What about old Proteus and his 'ighly curious 'abits, 
Mixing of his old grey beard into the old grey sea? 
What about old Darwin and the hat that brought forth 
rabbits. 
Mud and slime that growed into the pomp of Ninevey? 

What if there should be 
One great Power beneath it all, one God in you and me? 



XVII 

Anyway, it seemed to me I'd struck the world's pump-handle! 
"Back with that three ha'pence, Bill," I mutters, "or 
you're lost." 
Back I hurries thro' the dusk where, shining like a candle, 
Pale before the sunset stood that fairy finger-post. 
Sir, she wasn't there! I'd struck the place where all roads 
crost, 
All the roads in all the world. 



44 THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 

She couldn't yet have trotted 
Even to the . . . Hist! a stealthy step behind? A 
ghost? 
Swish! A flying noose had caught me round the neck! 
Garotted ! 
Back I staggered, clutching at the moonbeams, yus, almost 

Throttled! Sir, I boast 
Bill is tough, but . . . when it comes to throttling by a 
ghost ! 



XVIII 

Winged hke a butterfly, tall and slender 

Out It steps with the rope on its arm. 
''Crumbs," I says, "all right! I surrender! 

When have I crossed you or done you harm? 
Ef you're a sperrit," I says, "O, crikey, 

Ef you're a sperrit, get hence, vamoose!" 
Sweet as music, she spoke — "I'm Psyche!" — 

Choking me still with her silken noose. 

XIX 

Straight at the word from the ferns and blossoms 

Fretting the moon-rise over the downs. 
Little blue wings and little white bosoms, 

Little white faces with golden cro'wais 
Peeped, and the colours came twinkling round me, 

Laughed, and the turf grew purple with thyme, 
Danced, and the sweet crushed scents nigh drowned me, 

Sang, and the hare-bells rang in chime. 

XX 

All around me, gliding and gleaming, 

Fair as a fallen sunset-sky. 
Butterfly wings came drifting, dreaming, 

Clouds of the little folk clustered nigh, 
Little white hands like pearls uplifted 

Cords of silk in shimmering skeins. 
Cast them about me and dreamily drifted 

Winding me round with their soft warm chains. 



THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 45 

XXI 

Round and round me they dizzily floated, 

Binding me faster with every turn : 
Crumbs, my pals would have grinned and gloated 

Watching me over that fringe of fern, 
Bill, \\ath his battered old hat outstanding 

Black as a foam-swept rock to the moon, 
Bill, like a rainbow of silks expanding 

Into a beautiful big cocoon, — 

XXII 

Big as a cloud, though his hat still crowned him, 

Yus, and his old boots bulged below: 
Seas of colour went shimmering round him. 

Dancing, glimmering, glancing a-glow! 
Bill knew well what them elves were at, sir, — 

Ain't you an en-to-mol-o-gist? 
Well, despite of his old black hat, sir, 

Bill was becoming — a chrysalist. 



XXIII 

Muffled, smothered in a sea of emerald and opal, 

Down a dazzling gulf of dreams I sank and sank away, 
Wound about with twenty thousand yards of silken rope, all 

Sliimmering into crimson, glimmering into grey. 
Drowsing, waking, living, dying, just as you regards it, 

Buried in a sunset-cloud, or cloud of breaking day, 
'Cording as from East or West yourself might look towards it, 

Losing, gaining, lost in darkness, ragged, grimy, gay, 
'And-cuffed, not to sa}^ 

Gagged, but both my shoulders budding, sprouting white as 
May. 

XXIV 

Sprouting like the milky buds o' hawthorn in the night-time, 
Pouting like the snowy buds o' roses in July, 

Spreading in my chrysalist and waiting for the right time, 
When — I thought — they'd bust to wings and Bill would rise 
and fly, 



46 THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 

Tick, tack, tick, tack, as if it came in answer, 

Sweeping o'er my head again the tide o' dreams went by,- 
/ must get to Piddinghoe to-morrow if I can, sir. 

Tick, tack, a crackle in my chrysalist, a cry! 
Then the warm blue sky 

Bust the shell, and out crept Bill — a blooming butterfly! 



XXV 

Blue as a corn-flower, blazed the zenith: the deepening East 
like a scarlet poppy 
Burned while, dazzled with golden bloom, white clouds like 
daisies, green seas like v/heat, 
Gripping the sign-post, first, I climbs, to sun my wings, which 
were "wrinkled and floppy. 
Spreading 'em white o'er the words No Road, and hanging 
fast by my six black feet. 

XXVI 

Still on my head was the battered old beaver, but through it 
my clubbed antennae slanted, 
("Feelers" yourself would probably call 'em) my battered 
old boots were hardly seen 
Under the golden fluff of the tail! It was Bill, sir, Bill, though 
highly enchanted, 
Spreading his beautiful snow-white pinions, tipped with 
orange, and veined with green. 

XXVII 

Yus, old Bill was an Orange-tip, a spirit in glory, a blooming 
Psyche ! 
New, it was new from East to West this rummy old world 
that I dreamed I knew, 
How can I tell you the things that I saw with my — what shall 
/ call 'em?— "feelers?"— 0, crikey, 
"Feelers?" You know how the man born blind described 
such colours as scarlet or blue. 



THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 47 

XXVIII 

"Scarlet," he says, "is the sound of a trumpet, blue is a flute," 
for he hasn't a notion ! 
No, nor nobody living on earth can tell it him plain, if he 
hasn't the sight! 
That's how it stands with ragged old Bill, a-drift and a-dream 
on a measureless ocean, 
Gifted wi' fifteen new-born senses, and seeing you blind to 
their new strange light. 

XXIX 

How can I tell you? Sir, you must wait, till you die like Bill, 
ere you understand it! 
Only — I saw — the same as a bee that strikes to his hive ten 
leagues away — 
Straight as a die, while I winked and blinked on that sun- 
warmed wood and my wings expanded 
(Whistler drawings that men call wings) — I saw — and I flew 
— that's all I can say. 

XXX 

Flew over leagues of whispering wonder, fairy forests and 
flowery palaces. 
Love-lorn casements, delicate kingdoms, beautiful flaming 
thoughts of — Him; 
Feasts of a million blue-mailed angels lifting their honey-and- 
wine-brimmed chalices, 
Throned upon clouds — (which you'd call white clover) down 
to the world's most rosiest rim. 

XXXI 

New and new and new and new, the white o' the cliffs and the 
wind in the heather, 
Yus, and the sea-gulls flying like flakes of the sea that flashed 
to the new-born day, 
Song, song, song, song, quivering up in the wild blue weather, 
Thousands of seraphim singing together, and me just flying 
and — knowing my way. 



48 THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 

XXXII 



Straight as a die to Piddinghoe's dolphin, and there I drops 
in a cottage garden, 
There, on a sun-warmed window-sill, I winks and peeps, for 
the window was wide ! 
Crumbs, he was there and fast in her arms and a-begging his 
poor old mother's pardon, 
There with his lips on her old grey hair, and her head on 
his breast while she laughed and cried, — 



XXXIII 

"One and nine-pence that old tramp gave me, or else I should 
never have reached you, sonny, 
Never, and you just leaving the village to-day and meaning to 
cross the sea, 
One and nine-pence he gave me, I paid for the farmer's lift with 
half o' the money! 
Here's the ten-pence halfpenny, sonny, 'twill pay for our little 
' ouse-warming tea." 



XXXIV 

Tick, tack, tick, tack, out into the garden 

Toddles that old Fairy with his arm about her — so. 
Cuddling of her still, and still a-begging of her pardon. 

While she says "I wish the corn-flower king could only 
know! 
Bless him, bless him, once again," she says and softly gazes 

Up to heaven, a-smiling in her mutch as white as snow. 
All among her giliy-flowers and stocks and double daisies, 

Mignonette, forget-me-not, . . . Twenty years ago, 
All a rosy glow, 

This is how it was, she said. Twenty years ago. 



THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED 49 

XXXV 

Once again I seemed to wake, the vision it had fled, sir, 

There I lay upon the downs: the sky was like a peach; 
Yus, mth twelve bokays of corn-flowers blue beside my bed, 
sir, 
More than usual 'andsome, so they'd bring me two-pence 
each. 
Easy as a poet's dreams they blossomed round my head, sir, 

All I had to do was just to lift my hand and reach. 
Tie 'em with a bit of string, and earn my blooming bread, 
sir. 
Selling little nose-gays on the bare-foot Brighton beach, 

Nose-gays and a speech. 
All about the bright blue eyes they matched on Brighton 
beach. 



XXXVI 

Overhead the singing lark and underfoot the heather, 

Far and blue in front of us the unplumbed sky, 
Me and stick and bundle, O, we jogs along together, 

(Changeable the weather? Well, it ain't all pie!) 
Weather's like a woman, sir, and if she wants to quarrel, 

If her eyes begin to flash and hair begins to fly, 
You've to wait a little, then — the story has a moral — 

Ain't the sunny kisses all the sweeter by and bye? — 
(Crumbs, it's 'ot and dry! 

Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!) the sweeter by and bye. 



XXXVII 

So the world's my sweetheart and I sort of want to squeeze 'er. 

Toffs 'ull get no chance of heaven, take 'em in the lump! 
Never laid in hay-fields when the dawn came over-sea, sir? 

Guess it's true that story 'bout the needle and the hump! 



50 ON THE DOWNS 

Never crept into a stack because the wind was blowing, 

Hollered out a nest and closed the door-way with a clump, 
Laid and heard the whisper of the silence, growing, growing. 
Watched a thousand wheeling stars and wondered if they'd 
bump? 

What I say would stump 
Joshua! But I've done it, sir. Don't think I'm off my 
chump. 



XXXVIII 

If you try and lay, sir, with your face turned up to wonder, 

Up to twenty million miles of stars that roll like one, 
Right across to God knows where, and you just huddled under 

Like a little beetle with no business of his own. 
There you'd hear — ^like growing grass — a funny silent sound, 
sir, 

Mixed with curious crackles in a steady undertone, 
Just the sound of twenty billion stars a-going round, sir, 

Yus, and you beneath 'em like a wise old ant, alone. 
Ant upon a stone. 

Waving of his antlers, on the Sussex downs, alone. 



ON THE DOWNS 

Wide-eyed our childhood roamed the world 

Knee-deep in blowing grass. 
And watched the white clouds crisply curled 

Above the mountain-pass, 
And lay among the purple thyme 

And from its fragrance caught 
Strange hints from some elusive clime 

Beyond the bounds of thought. 

Glimpses of fair forgotten things 

Beyond the gates of birth, 
Half-caught from far off ancient springs 

In heaven, and half of earth; 



ON THE DOWNS 51 

And coloured like a fairy-tale 

And whispering evermore 
Half memories from the half-fenced pale 

Of lives we lived before. 

Here, weary of the roaring town 

A-while may I return 
And while the west wind roams the dovm 

Lie still, lie still and learn : 
Here are green leagues of murmuring wheat 

With blue skies overhead, 
And, all around, the winds are sweet 

With May-bloom, white and red. 

And, to and fro, the bee still hums 

His low unchanging song, 
And the same rustling whisper comes 

As through the ages long: 
Through all the thousands of the years 

That same sweet rumour flows, 
With dreaming skies and gleaming tears 

And kisses and the rose. 

Once more the children throng the lanes, 

Themselves like flowers, to weave 
Their garlands and their daisy-chains 

And listen and believe 
The tale of Once-wpon-a-time, 

And hear the Long-ago 
And Happy-ever-after chime 

Because it must be so. 

And by those thousands of the years 

It is, though scarce we see. 
Dazed with the rainbows of our tears, 

Their steadfast unity. 
It is, or life's disjointed schemes. 

These stones, these ferns unfurled 
With such deep care— a madman's dreams 

Were wisdom to this world! 



52 A MAY-DAY CAROL 

Dust into dust! Lie still and learn, 

Hear how the ages sing 
The solemn joy of our return 

To that which makes the Spring: 
Even as we came, with childhood's trust, 

Wide-eyed we go, to Thee 
Who holdest in Thy sacred dust 

The heavenly Springs to be. 



A MAY-DAY CAROL 

What is the loveliest light that Spring 

Rosily parting her robe of grey 
Girdled with leaflet green, can fling 

Over the fields where her white feet stray? 
What is the merriest promise of May 

Flung o'er the dew-drenched April flowers? 
Tell me, you on the pear-tree spray — 

Carol of birds between the showers. 

What can life at its lightest bring 

Better than this on its brightest day? 
How should we fetter the white-throat's wing 

V/ild with joy of its woodland way? 
Sweet, should love for an hour delay. 

Swift, while the primrose- time is ours! 
What is the lover's royallest lay? — 

Carol of birds between the showers. 

What is the murmur of bees a-swing? 

What is the laugh of a child at play? 
What is the song that the angels sing? 

(Where were the tune could the sweet notes stay 
Longer than this, to kiss and betray?) 

Nay, on the blue sky's topmost towers, 
What is the song of the seraphim? Say — 

Carol of birds between the showers. 



THE CALL OF THE SPRING 53 

Thread the stars on a silver string, 

(So did they sing in Bethlehem's bowers!) 

Mirth for a little one, grief for a king, 
Carol of birds between the showers. 



THE CALL OF TEE SPRING 

Come, choose your road and away, my lad, 

Come, choose your road and away ! 
We'll out of the town by the road's bright crown 

As it dips to the dazzling day. 
It's a long white road for the weary ; 

But it rolls through the heart of the May. 

Though many a road would merrily ring 

To the tramp of your marching feet, 
All roads are one from the day that's done, . 

And the miles are swift and sweet, ^ 

And the graves of your friends are the mile-stones 

To the land where all roads meet. 

But the call that you hear this day, my lad. 

Is the Spring's old bugle of mirth 
When the year's green fire in a soul's desire 

Is brought like a rose to the birth; 
And knights ride out to adventure 

As the flowers break out of the earth. 

Over the sweet-smelling mountain-passes 

The clouds lie brightly curled; 
The wild-flowers cling to the crags and swing 

With cataract-dews impearled; 
And the way, the way that you choose this day 

Is the way to the end of the world. 

It rolls from the golden long ago 

To the land that we ne'er shall find ; 
And it's uphUl here, but it's downhill there, 

For the road is wise and kind, 
And all rough places and cheerless faces 

Will soon be left behind. 



54 THE CALL OF THE SPRING 

Come, choose your road and away, away, 

We'll follow the gipsy sun; 
For it's soon, too soon to the end of the day, 

And the day is well begun; 
And the road rolls on through the heart of the May, 

And there's never a May but one. 



There's a fir-wood here, and a dog-rose there, 

And a note of the mating dove; 
And a glimpse, maybe, of the warm blue sea, 

And the warm white clouds above; 
And warm to your breast in a tenderer nest 

Your sweetheart's little glove. 



There's not much better to win, my lad, 

There's not much better to win! 
You have lived, you have loved, you have fought, you 
have proved 

The worth of folly and sin; 
So now come out of the City's rout, 

Come out of the dust and the din. 



Come out, — a bundle and stick is all 

You'll need to carry along. 
If your heart can carry a kindly word. 

And your lips can carry a song; 
You may leave the lave to the keep o' the grave, 

If your lips can carry a song ! 



Come, choose your road and away, my lad, 

Come, choose your road and away! 
We^ll out of the town by the road's bright crown, 

As it dips to the sapphire day! 
All roads may meet at the world's end. 

But, hey for the heart of the May! 
Come, choose your road and away, dear lad, 

Come choose your road and away. 



A DEVONSHIRE DITTY 55 

A DEVONSHIRE DITTY 



In a leafy lane of Devon 
There's a cottage that I know, 
Then a garden — then, a grey old crumbling wall, 
And the wall's the wall of heaven 
(Where I hardly care to go) 
And there isn't any fiery sword at all. 

II 

But I never went to heaven. 

There was right good reason why. 

For they sent a shining angel to me there, 
An angel, down in Devon, 
(Clad in muslin by the bye) 
With the halo of the sunshine on her hair. 

Ill 

Ah, whate'er the darkness covers, 
And whate'er we sing or say. 

Would you climb the wall of heaven an hour too 
soon 
If you knew a place for lovers 
Where the apple-blossoms stray 

Out of heaven to sway and whisper to the moon? 

IV 

When we die — we'll think of Devon 

Where the garden's all aglow 

With the flowers that stray across the grey old 
wall: 
Then we'll climb it, out of heaven, 

From the other side, you know, 
Straggle over it from heaven 

With the apple-blossom snow, 
Tumble back again to Devon 

Laugh and love as long ago. 
Where there isn't any fiery sword at all. 



56 BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES 

BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES 

Half a hundred terrible pig-tails, pirates famous in song and 

Hoisting the old black flag once more, in a palmy harbour of 
Caribbee, 
"Farewell" we waved to our brown-skinned lasses, and chorus- 
sing out to the billows of glory, 

Billows a-glitter with rum and gold, we followed the sunset 
over the sea. 



While earth goes round, let rum go round, 

Our capstan song we sung: 
Half a hundred broad-sheet pirates 

When the world was young! 



Sea-roads plated with pieces of eight that rolled to a heaven 
by rum made mellow, 
Heaved and coloured our barque's black nose where the 
Lascar sang to a twinkling star, 
And the tangled bow-sprit plunged and dipped its point in 
the west's wild red and yellow, 
Till the curved white moon crept out astern like a naked 
knife from a blue cj^mar. 



While earth goes round, let rum go round, 

Our capstan song we sung: 
Half a hundred terrible pirates 

When the world was young! 

Half a hundred tarry pig-tails, Teach, the chewer of glass, had 
taught us, 
Taught us to balance the plank ye walk, your little plank- 
bridge to Kingdom Come: 
Half a score had sailed with Flint, and a dozen or so the devil 
had brought us 
Back from the pit where Blackbeard lay, in Beelzebub's 
bosom, a-screech for rum. 



BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES 57 

While earth goes round, let rum go round, 

Our ca-pstaji song we sutig: 
Half a hundred piping pirates 

V/hen the world was young! 

There was Captain Hook (of whom ye have heard — so called 
from his terrible cold steel twister, 
His own right hand having gone to a shark with a taste for 
skippers on pirate-trips), 
There was Silver himself, with his cruel crutch, and the blind 
man Pew, with a phiz like a blister, 
Gouged and white and dreadfully dried in the reek of a 
thousand burning ships. 

While earth goes round, let rum go round, 

Our capstan song we sung: 
Half a hundred cut-throat pirates 

When the world was young! 

With our silver buckles and French cocked hats and our 
skirted coats (thej^ were growing greener, 
But green and gold look well when spliced! We'd trimmed 
'em up wi' some fine fresh lace) 
Bravely over the seas we danced to the horn-pipe tune of a 
concertina. 
Cutlasses jetting beneath our skirts and cambric handker- 
chiefs all in place. 

While earth goes round, let rum go round, 

Our capstan song we sung: 
Half a hundred elegant pirates 

When the world was young! 

And our black prow grated, one golden noon, on the happiest 
isle of the Happy Islands, 
An isle of Paradise, fair as a gem, on the sparkling breast 
of the wine-dark deep, 
An isle of blossom and yellow sand, and enchanted vines on 
the purple highlands, 
Wi' grapes like melons, nay clustering suns, a-sprawl over 
cliffs in their noonday sleep. 



58 BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES 

While earth goes round let rum go round, 

Our capstan song we sung: 
Half a hundred dream-strxick pirates 

When the world was young! 

And lo! on the soft warm edge of the sand, where the sea like 
wine in a golden noggin 
Creamed, and the rainbow-bubbles clung to his flame-red 
hair, a white youth lay, 
Sleeping; and now, as his drowsy grip relaxed, the cup that 
he squeezed his grog in 
Slipped from his hand and its purple dregs were mixed with 
the flames and flakes of spray. 

While earth goes round, let rum go round, 

OiLr capstan song we sung: 
Half a hundred diffident pirates 

When the world was young! 

And we suddenly saw (had we seen them before? They were 
coloured like sand or the pelt on his shoulders) 
His head was pillowed on two great leopards, whose breathing 
rose and sank with his own; 
Now a pirate is bold, but the vision was rum and would call 
for rum in the best of beholders, 
And it seemed we had seen Him before, in a dream, with 
that flame-red hair and that vine-leaf crown. 

And the earth went round, and tJie rum went round, 

And softlier now we sung: 
Half a hundred awe-struck pirates 

When the ivorld was young! 

Now Timothy Hook (of whom ye have heard, with his talon of 
steel) our doughty skipper, 
A man that, in youth being brought up pious, had many a 
book on his cabin-shelf. 
Suddenly caught at a comrade's hand with the tearing claws of 
his cold steel flipper 
And cried, " Great Thunder and Brimstone, boys, I've hit it 
at last! 'Tis Bacchus himself." 



BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES 59 

And the earth went round, and the rum ivent round, 

And never a word we sung: 
Half a hundred tottering pirates 

When the world was young! 

He flung his French cocked hat i' the foam (though its lace was 
the best of his wearing apparel) : 
We stared at him — Bacchus ! The sea reeled round like a wine- 
vat splashing with purple dreams, 
And the sunset-skies were dashed with blood of the grape as 
the sun like a new-staved barrel 
Flooded the tumbling -West with wine and spattered the 
clouds with crimson gleams. 

And the earth xoent round, and our heads ivent round, 

And never a word we sung: 
Half a hundred staggering pirates 

When the world was young! 

Down to the ship for a fishing-net our crafty Hook sent Silver 
leaping; 
Back he came on his pounding crutch, for all the world like 
a kangaroo; 
And we caught the net and up to the Sleeper on hands and knees 
we all went creeping, 
Flung it across him and staked it down! 'Twas the best of 
our dreams and the dream was true. 

And the earth went round, and the rum went round. 

And loudly now we sung: 
Half a hundred jubilant pirates 

When the world was young! 

We had caught our god, and we got him aboard ere he woke 
(he was more than a little heavy) ; 
Glittering, beautiful, flushed he lay in the lurching bows of 
the old black barque, 
As the sunset died and the white moon dawned, and we saw 
on the island a star-bright bevy 
Of naked Bacchanals stealing to watch through the whisper- 
ing vines in the purple dark! 



60 BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES 

While earth goes round, let rum go round, 

Our capstan song we sung: 
Half a hundred innocent pirates 

When the world was young! 

Beautiful under the sailing moon, in the tangled net, v/ith the 
leopards beside him, 
Snared like a wild young red-lipped merman, wilful, petulant, 
flushed he lay; 
While Silver and Hook in their big sea-boots and their boat- 
cloaks guarded and gleefully eyed him, 
Thinking what Bacchus might do for a seaman, like standing 
him drinks, as a man might say. 

While earth goes round, let rum go round, 

We sailed away and sung: 
Half a hundred fanciful pirates 

When the world was young! 

All the grog that ever was heard of, gods, was it stowed in our 
sure possession? 
O, the pictures that broached the sides and poured their 
colours across our dreams! 
0, the thoughts that tapped the sunset, and rolled like a great 
torchlight procession 
Down our throats in a glory of glories, a roaring splendour of 
golden streams! 

And the earth went round, and the stars went round, 

As we hauled the sheets and sung: 
Half a hundred infinite pirates 

When the world was young! 

Beautiful, white, at the break of day. He woke and, the net in 
a smoke dissolving, 
He rose like a flame, with his yellow-eyed pards and his 
flame-red hair like a windy dawn. 
And the crew kept back, respectful like, till the leopards 
advanced with their eyes revolving, 
Then up the rigging went Silver and Hook, and the rest of us 
followed with case-knives drawn. 



BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES 61 

While earth goes round, let rum go round, 

Our cross-tree song we sung: 
Half a hundred terrified pirates 

When the world was young! 

And "Take me home to my happy island!" he saj-s. "Not 
I," sings Hook, "by thunder; 
We'll take j^ou home to a happier isle, our palmy harbour 
of Caribbee!" 
"You won't!" says Bacchus, and quick as a dream the planks 
of the deck just heaved asunder. 
And a mighty Vine came straggling up that grew from the 
depths of the v/ine-dark sea. 

And the sea ivent round, and the shies went round, 

As our cross-tree song we sung: 
Half a hundred horrified pirates 

When the world was yoimg! 

We were anchored fast as an oak on land, and the branches 
clutched and the tendrils quickened, 
And bound us writhing like snakes to the spars! Ay, we 
hacked with our knives at the boughs in vain. 
And Bacchus laughed loud on the decks below, as ever the 
tough sprays tightened and thickened. 
And the blazing hours went by, and we gaped with thirst 
and our ribs were racked with pain 

And the skies went round, and the sea swam round, 

And we knew not what we sung: 
Half a hundred lunatic pirates 

When the world was young! 

Bunch upon bunch of sunlike grapes, as we writhed and 
struggled and raved and strangled. 
Bunch upon bunch of gold and purple daubed its bloom 
on our baked black lips. 
Clustering grapes, 0, bigger than pumpkins, just out of reach 
they bobbed and dangled 
Over the vine-entangled sails of that most dumbfounded of 
pirate ships! 



62 BACCHUS AND TliE PIRATES 

And the sun went round, and the moon came round, 

And knocked us where we hung: 
Half a hundred maniac ■pirates 

When the world was young! 

Over the waters the white moon v/inked its bruised old eye at 
our bowery prison, 
When suddenly we were aware of a light such as never a 
moon or a ship's lamp throws, 
And a shallop of pearl, like a Nautilus shell, came shimmering 
up as by magic arisen, 
With sails of silk and a glory around it that turned the sea 
to a rippling rose. 

And our heads went round, and the stars toent round, 

At the song that cruiser sung: 
Half a hundred goggle-eyed pirates 

When the world was young! 

Half a hundred rose- white Bacchanals hauled the ropes of 
that rosy cruiser! 
Over the seas they came and laid their little white hands on 
the old black barque; 
And Bacchus he ups and he steps aboard: "Hi, stop!" cries 
Hook, "you frantic old boozer! 
Belay, below there, don't you go and leave poor pirates to die 
in the dark!" 

And the moon went round, and the stars went round, 

As they all pushed off and sung: 
Half a hundred ribbonless Bacchanals 

When the world ivas young! 

Over the seas they went and Bacchus he stands, with his 
yellow-eyed leopards beside him. 
High on the poop of rose and pearl, and kisses his hand to 
us, pleasant as pie! 
WhUe the Bacchanals danced to their tambourines, and the 
vine-leaves flew, and Hook just eyed him 
Once, as a man that was brought up pious, and scornfully 
hollers, " Well, you ain't shy!" 



BACCHUS AND THE PIRATES 63 

For all around him, vine-leaf crowned, 

The wild white Bacchanals flung! 
Nor it ivasn't a sight for respectable pirates 

When the world was young! 

All around that rainbow-Nautilus rippled the bloom of a thou- 
sand roses, 
Nay, but the sparkle of fairy sea-nymphs breasting a fairy- 
like sea of wine, 
Swimming around it in murmuring thousands, with white 
arms tossing; till — all that we knows is 
The light went out, and the night was dark, and the grapes 
had burst and their juice was — brine! 

And the vines that bound our bodies round 

Were plain wet ropes that clung, 
Squeezing the light out o' fifty pirates 

When the world was young! 

Over the seas in the pomp of dawn a king's ship came with 
her proud flag flying. 
Cloud upon cloud we watched her tower with her belts 
and her crowded zones of sail ; 
And an A.B. perched in a white crow's nest, with a brass- 
rimmed spy-glass quietly spying. 
As we swallowed the lum.ps in our choking throats and 
uttered our last faint feeble hail! 

And our heads loent round as the ship went round, 
And we thought how coves had swung: 

All for playing at broad-sheet pirates 
When the world was young! 

Half a hundred trembling corsairs, all cut loose, but a trifle 
giddy. 
We lands on their trim white decks at last and the bo'sun 
he whistles us good hot grog. 
And we tries to confess, but there wasn't a soul from the 
Admiral's self to the gold-laced middy 
But says, "They're delirious still, poor chaps," and the 
Cap'n he enters the fact in his log, 



64 THE NEWSPAPER BOY 

That his boat 's crew found tis nearly drowned 

In a barrel without a bung — 
Half a hundred suffering sea-cooks 

When the world was young! 

So we sailed by Execution Dock, where the swinging pirates 
haughty and scornful 
Rattled their chains, and on Margate beach we came like 
a school-treat safe to land; 
And one of us took to religion at once; and the rest of the crew, 
tho' their hearts were mournful, 
Capered about as Christy Minstrels, while Hook conducted 
the big brass band. 

And the sun went round, and the moon went round, 
And, 0, 'twas a thought that stung! 

There was none to believe we were broad-sheet pirates 
When the world was young! 

Ah, yet (if ye stand me a noggin of rum) shall the old Blue 
Dolphin echo the story! 
We'U hoist the white cross-bones again in our palmy harbour 
of Caribbee! 
We'U wave farewell to our brown-skinned lasses and, chorussing 
out to the billows of glory. 
Billows a-glitter with rum and gold, we'll follow the sunset 
over the sea! 

While earth goes round, let rum go round! 

0, sing it as we sung! 
Half a hundred terrible pirates 

When the world ivas young! 

THE NEWSPAPER BOY 



Elf of the City, a lean little hollow-eyed boy 

Ragged and tattered, but lithe as a slip of the Spring, 

Under the lamp-light he runs with a reckless joy 
Shouting a murderer's doom or the death of a King. 



THE NEWSPAPER BOY 65 

Out of the darkness he leaps like a wild strange hint, 
Herald of tragedy, comedy, crime and despair, 

Waving a poster that hurls you, in fierce black print 
One word Mystery, under the lamp's white glare. 



II 

Elf of the night of the City he darts with his crew 

Out of a vaporous furnace of colour that wreathes 
Magical letters a-flicker from crimson to blue 

High overhead. All round him the mad world seethes. 
Hansoms, like cantering beetles, with diamond eyes 

Run through the moons of it; busses in yellow and red 
Hoot; and St. Paul's is a bubble afloat in the skies, 

Watching the pale moths flit and the dark death's head. 



Ill 

Painted and powdered they shimmer and rustle and stream 

Westward, the night moths, masks of the Magdalen! See, 
Puck of the revels, he leaps through the sinister dream 

Waving his elfin evangel of Mystery, 
Puck of the bubble or dome of their scoffing or trust. 

Puck of the fairy-like tower with the clock in its face. 
Puck of an Empire that whirls on a pellet of dust 

Bearing his elfin device thro' the splendours of space. 



IV 

Mystery — is it the scribble of doom on the dark, 

Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin, again? 
Mystery — is it a scrap of remembrance, a spark 

Burning still in the fog of a blind world's brain? 
Elf of the gossamer tangles of shadow and light. 

Wild electrical webs and the battle that rolls 
League upon perishing league thro' the ravenous night, 

Breaker on perishing breaker of human souls. 

5 



66 THE TWO WORLDS 

V 

Soaked in the colours, a flake of the flying spray- 
Flung over ^vreckage and yeast of the murderous town, 

Onward he flaunts it, innocent, vicious and gay, 

Prophet of prayers that are stifled and loves that drown, 

Urchin and sprat of the City that roars like a sea 
Surging around him in hunger and splendour and shame, 

Cruelty, luxury, madness, he leaps in his glee 
Out of the mazes of mist and the vistas of flame. 

VI 

Ragged and tattered he scurries away in the gloom: 

Over the thundering traffic a moment his cry 
Mystery! Mystery! — recldess of death and doom 

Rings; and the great wheels roll and the world goes by. 
Lost, is it lost, that hollow-eyed flash of the light? — 

Poor little face flying by with the word that saves. 
Pale little mouth of the mask of the measureless night, 

Shrilling the heart of it, lost like the foam on its waves ! 



THE TWO WORLDS 

This outer world is but the pictured scroll 

Of worlds within the soul, 
A coloured chart, a blazoned missal-book 

Whereon v/ho rightly look 
May spell the splendours with their mortal eyes 

And steer to Paradise. 

O, well for him that knows and early knows 

In his own soul the rose 
Secretly burgeons, of this earthly flower 

The heavenly paramour: 
And all these fairy dreams of green-wood fern. 

These waves that break and yearn. 
Shadows and hieroglyphs, hills, clouds and seas, 

Faces and flowers and trees. 
Terrestrial picture-parables, relate 

Each to its heavenly mate. 



THE TWO WORLDS 67 

O, well for him that finds in sky and sea 

This two-fold mystery, 
And loses not (as painfully he spells 

The fine-spun syllables) 
The cadences, the burning inner gleam, 

The poet's heavenly dream. 



Well for the poet if this earthly chart 

Be printed in his heart, 
When to his world of spirit woods and seas 

With eager face he flees 
And treads the untrodden fields of unknown flowers 

And threads the angelic bowers, 
And hears that unheard nightingale whose moan 

Trembles within his own, 
And lovers murmuring in the leafy lanes 

Of his own joys and pains. 

For though he voyages further than the flight 

Of earthly day and night. 
Traversing to the sky's remotest ends 

A world that he transcends, 
Safe, he shall hear the hidden breakers roar 

Against the mystic shore; 
Shall roam the yellow sands where sirens bare 

Their breasts and wind their hair; 
Shall with their perfumed tresses blind his eyes. 

And still possess the skies. 

He, where the deep unearthly jungles are, 

Beneath his Eastern star 
Shall pass the tawny lion in his den 

And cross the quaking fen. 
He learnt his path (and treads it undefiled) 

When, as a little child, 
He bent his head with long and loving looks 

O'er earthly picture-books. 
His earthly love nestles against his side, 

His young celestial guide. 



68 GORSE 

GORSE 

Between my face and the warm blue sky 
The crisp white clouds go sailing by, 

And the only sound is the sound of your breathing, 
The song of a bird and the sea's long sigh. 

Here, on the downs, as a tale re-told 

The sprays of the gorse are a-blaze with gold, 

As of old, on the sea-washed hills of my boyhood. 
Breathing the same sweet scent as of old. 

Under a ragged golden spray 
The great sea sparkles far away, 

Beautiful, bright, as my heart remembers 
Many a dazzle of waves in May. 

Long ago as I watched them shine 
Under the boughs of fir and pine, 

Here I watch them to-day and wonder. 
Here, with my love's hand warm in mine. 

The soft wings pass that we used to chase, 
Dreams that I dreamed had left not a trace, 

The same, the same, with the bars of crimson 
The green-veined white, with its floating grace, 

The same to the least bright fleck on their wings! 
And I close my eyes, and a lost bird sings. 

And a far sea sighs, and the old sweet fragrance 
Wraps me round with the dear dead springs, 

"Wraps me round with the springs to be 
When lovers that think not of you or me 

Laugh, but our eyes will be closed in darkness, 
Closed to the sky and the gorse and the sea, 

And the same great glory of ragged gold 
Once more, once more, as a tale re-told 

Shall whisper their hearts with the same sweet fragrance 
And their warm hands cling, as of old, as of old. 



EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY OF GEORGE MEREDITH 69 

Dead and un-born, the same blue skies 
Cover us! Love, as I read your eyes, 

Do I not know whose love enfolds us, 
As we fold the past in our memories, 



Past, present, future, the old and the new? 

From the depths of the grave a cry breaks through 

And trembles, a sky-lark blind in the azure. 
The depths of the all-enfolding blue. 



O, resurrection of folded years 

Deep in our hearts, with your smiles and tears, 

Dead and un-born shall not He remember 
Who folds our cry in His heart, and hears. 



FOR THE EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY OF 
GEORGE MEREDITH 

A HEALTH, a ringing health, unto the king 

Of all our hearts to-day ! But what proud song 
Should follow on the thought, nor do him wrong? 

Except the sea were harp, each mirtliful string 

The lovely lightning of the nights of Spring, 
And Dawn the lonely listener, glad and grave 
With colours of the sea-shell and the wave 

In brightening eye and cheek, there is none to sing! 



Drink to him, as men upon an Alpine peak 
Brim one immortal cup of crimson wine, 

And into it drop one pure cold crust of snow. 
Then hold it up, too rapturously to speak 

And drink — to the mountains, line on glittering line, 
Surging away into the sunset-glow. 



70 IN MEMORY OF SWINBURNE 

IN MEMORY OF SWINBURNE 



April from shore to shore, from sea to sea, 
April in heaven and on the springing spray 
Buoyant witli birds that sing to welcome May 

And April in those eyes that mourn for thee: 

"This is my singing month; my hawthorn tree 
Burgeons once more," we seemed to hear thee say, 
"This is my singing month: my fingers stray 

Over the lute. What shall the music be?" 

And April answered with too great a song 
For mortal lips to sing or hearts to hear, 

Heard only of that high invisible throng 

For whom thy song makes April all the year! 

"My singing month, what bringest thou?" Her breath 

Swooned with all music, and she answered — "Death." 

II 

All, but on earth, — "can'st thou, too, die," 

Low she whispers, "lover of mine?" 
April, queen over earth and sky 

Whispers, her trembling lashes shine: 
*'Wings of the sea, good-bye, good-bye, 

Down to the dim sea-line.'' 

Home to the heart of thine old-world lover. 

Home to thy "fair green-girdled" sea! 
There shall thy soul with the sea-birds hover, 

Free of the deep as their wings are free; 
Free, for the grave-flowers only cover 

This, the dark cage of thee. 

Thee, the storm-bird, nightingale-souled. 

Brother of Sappho, the seas reclaim! 
Age upon age have the great waves rolled 

Mad with her music, exultant, aflame; 
Thee, thee too, shall their glory enfold. 

Lit with thy snow-winged fame. 



IN MEMORY OF SWINBURNE 71 

Back, thro' the years, fleets the sea-bird's wing: 

Sappho, of old time, once, — ah, hark! 
So did he love her of old and sing! 

Listen, he flies to her, back thro' the dark! 
Sappho, of old time, once .... Yea, Spring 

Calls him home to her, hark! 



Sappho, long since, in the years far sped, 
Sappho, I loved thee! Did I not seem 

Fosterling only of earth? I have fled, 
Fled to thee, sister. Time is a dream! 

Shelley is here with us! Death lies dead! 
Ah, how the bright waves gleam. 



Wide was the cage-door, idly swinging; 

April touched me and whispered " Come." 
Out and away to the great deep winging, 

Sister, I flashed to thee over the foam, 
Out to the sea of Eternity, singing 

"Mother, thy child comes home." 



Ah, but how shall we welcome May 

Here where the wing of song droops low, 

Here by the last green swinging spray 
Brushed by the sea-bird's wings of snow, 

We that gazed on his glorious way 
Out where the great winds blow? 



Here upon earth — "can'st thou, too, die. 
Lover of life and lover of mine?" 

April, conquering earth and sky 

Whispers, her trembling lashes shine: 

"Wings of the sea, good-bye, good-bye, . 
Doxvn to the dim sea-line." 



72 ON THE DEATH OF FRANCIS THOMPSON 

ON THE DEATH OF FRANCIS THOMPSON 



How grandly glow the bays 

Purpureally enwound 
With those rich thorns, the brows 

How infinitely crowned 
That now thro' Death's dark house 

Have passed v/ith royal gaze: 
Purpureally enwound 

How grandly glow the bays. 



II 



Sweet, sweet and three-fold sweet, 

Pulsing with three-fold pain, 
Where the lark fails of flight 

Soared the celestial strain; 
Beyond the sapphire height 

Flew the gold-winged feet, 
Beautiful, pierced with pain. 

Sweet, sweet and three-fold sweet; 

III 

And where 7s not and 7s 

Are wed in one sweet Name, 
And the world's rootless vine 

With dew of stars a-flame 
Laughs, from those deep divine 

Impossibilities, 
Our reason all to shame — 

This cannot be, but is; 

IV 

Into the Vast, the Deep 

Beyond all mortal sight, 
The Nothingness that conceived 

The worlds of day and night. 



ON THE DEATH OF FRANCIS THOMPSON 73 

The Nothingness that heaved 

Pure sides in virgin sleep, 
Brought out of Darkness, light; 

And man from out the Deep. 



Into that Mystery- 
Let not thine hand be thrust: 

Nothingness is a world 

Thy science well may trust . 

But lo, a leaf unfurled, 
Nay, a cry mocking thee 

From the first grain of dust — 
/ am, yet cannot he! 



VI 

Adventuring un-afraid 

Into that last deep shrine. 
Must not the child-heart see 

Its deepest symbol shine, 
The world's Birth-mystery, 

Whereto the suns are shade? 
Lo, the white breast divine — 

The holy Mother-maid! 



VII 

How miss that Sacrifice, 

That cross of Yea and Nay, 
That paradox of heaven 

Whose palms point either way, 
Through each a nail being driven 

That the arms out-span the skies 
And our earth-dust this day 

Out-sweeten Paradise. 



74 IN MEMORY OF MEREDITH 

VIII 

We part the seamless robe, 

Our wisdom would divide 
The raiment of the King, 

Our spear is in His side, 
Even while the angels sing 

Around our perishing globe, 
And Death re-knits in pride 

The seamless purple robe. 



IX 

How grandly glow the hays 

Puvpureally enivound 
With those rich thorns, the broius 

How infinitely croivned 
That notu thro' Death's dark house 

Have passed with royal gaze: 
Purpureally enwound 

Hoiv grandly glow the bays. 

IN MEMORY OF MEREDITH 
I 

High on the mountains, who stands proudly, clad with the 

light of May, 
Rich as the dawn, deep-hearted as night, diamond-bright as 

day. 
Who, while the slopes of the beautiful valley throb with our 

muffled tread 
Who, witli the hill-flowers wound in her tresses, welcomes our 

deathless dead? 

II 

Is it not she whom he sought so long thro' the high lawns 

dewy and sweet, 
Up thro' the crags and the glittering snows faint-flushed with 

her rosy feet. 



IN MEMORY OF MEREDITH 75 

Is it not she — the queen of our night — crowned by the unseen 

sun, 
Artemis, she that can see the light, when light upon earth is 

none? 



Ill 

Huntress, queen of the dark of the world (no darker at night 

than noon) 
Beauty immortal and undefiled, the Eternal sun's white moon, 
Only by thee and thy silver shafts for a flash can our hearts 

discern, 
Pierced to the quick, the love, the love that still thro' the dark 

doth yearn. 



IV 

What to his soul were the hill-flowers, what the gold at the break 
of day 

Shot thro' the red-stemmed firs to the lake where the swimmer 
clove his way, 

What were the quivering harmonies showered from the heaven- 
tossed heart of the lark, 

Artemis, Huntress, what were these but thy keen shafts cleav- 
ing the dark? 



Frost of the hedge-row, flash of the jasmine, sparkle of dew on 
the leaf. 

Seas lit wide by the summer lightning, shafts from thy diamond 
sheaf, 

Deeply they pierced him, deeply he loved thee, now has he 
found thy soul, 

Artemis, thine, in this bridal peal, where we hear but the death- 
bell toll. 



76 THE SCHOLARS 

THE TESTIMONY OF ART 

As earth, sad earth, thrusts many a gloomy cape 
Into the sea's bright colour and living glee, 
So do we strive to embay that mystery 

Which earthly hands must ever let escape; 

The Word we seek for is the golden shape 
That shall enshrine the Soul we cannot see, 
A temporal chalice of Eternity 

Purple with beating blood of the hallowed grape. 



Once was it wine and sacramental bread 

Whereby we knew the power that through Him smiled 
When, in one still small utterance. He hurled 
The Eternities beneath His feet and said 
With lips, meek as any little child. 
Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world 



THE SCHOLARS 

Where is the scholar whose clear mind can hold 
The floral text of one sweet April mead? — 
The flowing lines, which few can speU indeed 

Though most will note the scarlet and the gold 

Around the flourishing capitals grandly scrolled; 
But ah, the subtle cadences that need 
The lover's heart, the lover's heart to read. 

And ah, the songs unsung, the tales untold. 



Poor fools-capped scholars — grammar keeps us close, 
The primers thrall us, and our eyes grow dim: 
When will old Master Science hear the call. 
Bid us run free with life in every limb 

To breathe the poems and hear the last red rose 
Gossiping over God's grey garden- wall? 



RESURRECTION 77 

RESURRECTION 

Once more I hear the everlasting sea 

Breathing beneath the mountain's fragrant breast, 
Co7ne unto Me, come unto Me, 

And I will give you rest. 

We have destroyed the Temple and in three days 
He hath rebuilt it — all things are made new: 

And hark what wild throats pour His praise 
Beneath the boundless blue. 

We plucked down all His altars, cried aloud 
And gashed ourselves for little gods of clay! 

Yon floating cloud was but a cloud, 
The May no more than May. 

We plucked down all His altars, left not one 

Save where, perchance (and ah, the joy was fleet), 

We laid our garlands in the sun 
At the white Sea-born's feet. 

We plucked down all His altars, not to make 

The small praise greater, but the great praise less, 

We sealed all fountains where the soul could slake 
Its thirst and weariness. 

"Love" was too small, too human to be found 
In that transcendent source whence love was born: 

We talked of "forces": heaven was crowned 
With philosophic thorn. 

"Your God is in your image," we cried, but 0, 
'Twas only man's own deepest heart ye gave. 

Knowing that He transcended all ye know, 
While we — we dug His grave. 

Denied Him even the crown on our own brow, 
E'en these poor symbols of His loftier reign. 

Levelled His Temple with the dust, and now 
He is risen, He is risen again, 



78 A JAPANESE LOVE-SONG 

Risen, like this resurrection of the year, 
This grand ascension of the choral spring, 

Which those harp-crowded heavens bend to hear 
And meet upon the wing. 

"He is dead," we cried, and even amid that gloom 
The wintry veil was rent ! The new-born day 

Showed us the Angel seated in the tomb 
And the stone rolled away. 

It is the hour! We challenge heaven above 
Now, to deny our slight ephemeral breath 

Joy, anguish, and that everlasting love 
Which triumphs over death. 



A JAPANESE LOVE-SONG 



The young moon is white, 

But the willows are blue: 
Your small lips are red, 

But the great clouds are grey: 
The waves are so many 

That whisper to you; 
But my love is only 

One flight of spray. 

II 

The bright drops are many, 

The dark wave is one: 
The dark v/ave subsides, 

And the bright sea remains! 
And wherever, singing 

Maid, you may run. 
You are one with the world 

For all your pains. 



THE TWO PAINTERS 79 

III 

Though the great skies are dark, 

And your small feet are white, 
Though your wide eyes are blue 

And the closed poppies red, 
Tho' the kisses are many 

That colour the night, 
They are linked like pearls 

On one golden thread. 

IV 

Were the grey clouds not made 

For the red of your mouth; 
The ages for flight 

Of the butterfly years; 
The sweet of the peach 

For the pale lips of drouth, 
The sunlight of smiles 

For the shadow of tears? 

V 

Love, Love is the thread 

That has pierced them with bliss! 
All their hues are but notes 

In one world-wide tune: 
Lips, willows, and waves, 

We are one as we kiss, 
And your face and the flowers 

Faint away in the moon. 



THE TWO PAINTERS 

(a tale of old japan.) 

I 

YoicHi Tenko, the painter, 
Dwelt by the purple sea, 

Painting the peacock islands 
Under his willow- tree: 



80 THE TWO PAINTERS 

Also in temples he painted 

Dragons of old Japan, 
With a child to look at the pictures — ■ 

Little O Kimi San. 



Kimi, the child of his brother, 

Bright as the moon in May, 
White as a lotus lily, 

Pink as a plum-tree spray, 
Linking her soft arm round him 

Sang to his heart for an hour, 
Kissed him with ripples of laughter 

And lips of the cherry flower. 



Child of the old pearl-fisher 

Lost in his junk at sea, 
Kimi was loved of Tenko 

As his own child might be, 
Yoichi Tenko the painter. 

Wrinkled and grey and old, 
Teacher of many disciples 

That paid for his dreams with gold. 



II 



Peonies, peonies crowned the May! 
Clad in blue and white array 

Came Sawara to the school 
Under the silvery willow-tree, 

All to learn of Tenko! 
Riding on a milk-white mule, 

Young and poor and proud was he, 
Lissom as a cherry spray 
(Peonies, peonies, crowned the day!) 
And he rode the golden way 

To the school of Tenko. 



THE TWO PAINTERS 81 

Swift to learn, beneath his hand 
Soon he watched his wonderland 

Growing cloud by magic cloud, 
Under the silvery willow-tree 

In the school of Tenko: 
Kimi watched him, young and proud, 

Painting by the purple sea, 
Lying on the golden sand 
Watched his golden wings expand! 
(None but Love will understand 

All she hid from Tenko.) 

He could paint her tree and flower, 
Sea and spray and wizard's tower, 

With one stroke, now hard, now soft, 
Under the silvery willow-tree 

In the school of Tenko: 
He could fling a bird aloft. 

Splash a dragon in the sea, 
Crown a princess in her bower, 
With one stroke of magic power; 
And she watched him, hour by hour, 

In the school of Tenko. 

Yoichi Tenko, wondering, scanned 
All the work of that young hand. 

Gazed his kakemonos o'er, 
Under the silvery willow-tree 

In the school of Tenko: 
"I can teach you nothing more. 

Thought or craft or mystery; 
Let your golden wings expand. 
They will shadow half the land. 
All the world's at your command, 

Come no more to Tenko." 

hying on the golden sand, 
Kimi watched his wings expand; 
Wept. — He could not understand 
Why she wept, said Tenko. 



82 THE TWO PAINTERS 

III 

So, in her blue kimono, 

Pale as the sickle moon 
Glimmered thro' soft plum-branches 

Blue in the dusk of June, 
Stole she, willing and waning. 

Frightened and unafraid, — 
" Take me with you, Sawara, 

Over the sea," she said. 

Small and sadly beseeching. 

Under the willow-tree. 
Glimmered her face like a foam-fiake 

Drifting over the sea: 
Pale as a drifting blossom. 

Lifted her face to his eyes: 
Slowly he gathered and held her 

Under the drifting skies. 

Poor little face cast backward, 

Better to see his own, 
Earth and heaven went past them 

Drifting: they two, alone 
Stood, immortal. He whispered — 

"Nothing can part us tvv'o!" 
Backward her sad little face went 

Drifting, and dreamed it true. 

"Others are happy," she murmured, 

"Maidens and men I have seen; 
You are my king, Sawara, 

0, let me be your queen! 
If I am all too lov/ly," 

Sadly she strove to smile, 
"Let me follow your footsteps, 

Your slave for a little while." 

Surely, he thought, I have painted 

Nothing so fair as this 
Moonlit almond blossom 

Sweet to fold and kiss, 



THE TWO PAINTERS 83 

Brow that is filled with music, 

Shell of a faery sea, 
Eyes like the holy violets 

Brimmed with dew for me. 

*'Wait for Sawara," he whispered, 

"Does not his whole heart yearn 
Now to his moon-bright maiden? 

Wait, for he will return 
Rich as the wave on the moon's path 

Rushing to claim his bride!" 
So they plighted their promise, 

And the ebbing sea-wave sighed. 



IV 

Moon and flower and butterfly, 
Earth and heaven went drifting by, 

Three long years while Kimi dreamed 
Under the silvery willow-tree 

In the school of Tenko, 
Steadfast while the whole world stream^ed 

Past her tow'rds Eternity; 
Steadfast till with one great cry. 
Ringing to the gods on high, 
Golden wings should blind the sky 

And bring him back to Tenko. 

Three long years and nought to say 
"Sweet, I come the golden way, 

Riding royally to the school 
Under the silvery willow-tree 

Claim my bride of Tenko; 
Silver bells on a milk-white mule, 

Rose-red sails on an emerald sea!" . . 
Kimi sometimes went to pray 
In the temple nigh the bay, 
Dreamed all night and gazed all day 

Over the sea from Tenko. 



84 THE TWO PAINTERS 

Far away his growing fame 

Lit the clouds. No message came 

From the sky, whereon she gazed 
Under the silvery willow-tree 

Far away from Tenko! 
Small white hands in the temple raised 

Pleaded with the Mystery, — 
"Stick of incense in the flame, 
Though my love forget my name. 
Help him, bless him, all the same, 
And . . . bring him back to Tenko!" 

Rose-white temple nigh the bay, 
Hush! for Kimi conies to pray, 
Dream all night and gaze all day 
Over the sea from Tenho. 



So, when the rich young merchant 

Showed him his bags of gold, 
Yoichi Tenko, the painter. 

Gave him her hand to hold, 
Said: "You shall wed him, O Kimi." 

Softly he lied and smiled — 
f Yea, for Sawara is wedded! 

Let him not mock you, child." 

Dumbly she turned and left them, 

Never a word or cry 
Broke from her lips' grey petals 

Under the drifting sky: 
Down to the spray and the rainbows, 

Where she had watched him of old 
Painting the rose-red islands. 

Painting the sand's wet gold, 

Down to their dreams of the sunset, 
Frail as a flower's white ghost, 

Lonely and lost she wandered 
Down to the darkening coast: 



THE TWO PAINTERS 85 

Lost in the drifting midnight, 

Weeping, desolate, blind. 
Many went out to seek her: 

Never a heart could find. 

Yoichi Tenko, the painter, 

Plucked from his willow-tree 
Two big paper lanterns 

And ran to the brink of the sea; 
Over his head he held them, 

Crying, and only heard. 
Somewhere, out in the darkness. 

The cry of a wandering bird. 



VI 

Peonies, peonies thronged the May 
When in royal-rich array 

Came Sawara to the school 
Under the sUvery willow-tree — 

To the school of Tenko! 
Silver bells on a milk-white mule, 

Rose-red sails on an emerald sea! 
Over the bloom of the cherry spray, 
Peonies, peonies dimmed the day; 
And he rode the royal way 

Back to Yoichi Tenko. 

Yoichi Tenko, half afraid, 
Whispered, "Wed some other maid; 

Kimi left me all alone 
Under the silvery willow-tree. 

Left me," whispered Tenko, 
"Kimi had a heart of stone!" — 

"Kimi, Kimi? Who is she? 
Kimi? Ah — the child that plaj^ed 
Round the willow-tree. She prayed 
Often; and, whate'er I said, 

She believed it, Tenko." 



86 THE TWO PAINTERS 

He had come to paint anew 
Those dim isles of rose and blue, 

For a palace far away, 
Under the silvery willow-tree — 

So he said to Tenko; 
And he painted, day by day, 

Golden visions of the sea. 
No, he had not come to woo; 
Yet, had Kimi proven true. 
Doubtless he had loved her too, 

Hardly less than Tenko. 

Since the thought was in his head. 
He would make his choice and wed: 

And a lovely maid he chose 
Under the sUvery willow-tree. 

"Fairer far," said Tenko. 
"Kimi had a twisted nose, 

And a foot too small, for me, 
And her face was dull as lead!" 
"Nay, a flower, be it white or red, 
7s a flower," Sawara said! 

"So it is," said Tenko. 



VII 

Great Sawara, the painter, 

Sought, on a day of days, 
One of the peacock islands 

Out in the sunset haze: 
Rose-red sails on the water 

Carried him quickly nigh; 
There would he paint him a wonder 

Worthy of Hokusai. 

Lo, as he leapt o'er the creaming 

Roses of faery foam. 
Out of the green-lipped caverns 

Under the isle's blue dome, 



THE TWO PAINTERS 87 

White as a drifting snow-flake, 

White as the moon's white flame, 
White as a ghost from the darkness, 

Little Kimi came. 

"Long I have waited, Sawara, 

Here in our sunset isle, 
Sawara, Sawara, Sawara, 

Look on me once, and smUe; 
Face I have watched so long for, 

Hands I have longed to hold, 
Sawara, Sawara, Sawara, 

Why is your heart so cold?" 

Surely, he thought, I have painted 

Nothing so fair as this 
Moonlit almond blossom 

Sweet to fold and kiss. . . . 
"Kimi," he said, "I am wedded! 

Hush, for it could not be!" 
"Kiss me one kiss," she whispered, 

"Me also, even me." 

Small and terribly drifting 

Backward, her sad white face 
Lifted up to Sawara 

Once, in that lonely place, 
White as a drifting blossom 

Under his wondering eyes. 
Slowly he gathered and held her 

Under the drifting skies. 

"Others are happy," she whispered, 

"Maidens and men I have seen: 
Be happy, be happy, Sawara! 

The other — shall be — your queen! 
Kiss me one kiss for parting." 

Trembling she lifted her head. 
Then like a broken blossom 

It fell on his arm. She was dead. 



88 THE ENCHANTED ISLAND 

VIII 

Much impressed, Sawara straight 
(Though the hour was growing late) 

Made a sketch of Kimi lying 
By the lonely, sighing sea, 

Brought it back to Tenko. 
Tenko looked it over crying 

(Under the silvery willow- tree). 
"You have burst the golden gate! 
You have conquered Time and Fate! 
Hokusai is not so great! 

This is Art," said Tenko! 

THE ENCHANTED ISLAND 
I 

I REMEMBER — 

a breath, a breath 

Blown thro' the rosy gates of birth, 

A morning freshness not of the earth 
But cool and strange and lovely as death 

In Paradise, in Paradise, 
When, all to suffer the old sweet pain 

Closing his immortal eyes 

Wonder-wild an angel lies 
With wings of rainbow-tinctured graia 

Withering till — ah, wonder-wild, 
Here on the dawning earth again 

He wakes, a little child. 

II 

I remember — 

a gleam, a gleam 

Of sparkling waves and warm blue sky 
Far away and long ago. 

Or ever I knew that youth could die; 
And out of the dawn, the dawn, the dawn, 
Into the unknown life we sailed 

As out of sleep into a dream. 
And, as with elfin cables drawn 



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND 89 

In dusk of purple over the glowing 
Wrinkled measureless emerald sea, 
The light cloud shadows larger far 
Than the sweet shapes which drew them on, 
Elfin exquisite shadows flowing 
Between us and the morning star 
Chased us all a summer's day, 
And our sail like a dew-lit blossom shone 
Till, over a rainbow haze of spray 
That arched a reef of surf like snow 

— Far away and long ago — 
We saw the sky-line rosily engrailed 

With tufted peaks above a smooth lagoon 
Which growing, growing, growing as we sailed 

Curved all around them like a crescent moon; 
And then we saw the purple-shadowed creeks, 
The feathery palms, the gleaming golden streaks 
Of sand, and nearer yet, like jewels of fire 
Streaming between the boughs, or floating higher 
Like tiny sunset-clouds in noon-day skies, 

The birds of Paradise. 

Ill 

The island floated in the air, 

Its image floated in the sea: 
Which was the shadow? Both were fair . 

Like sister souls they seemed to be; 
And one was dreaming and asleep, 

And one bent down from Paradise 
To kiss with radiance in the deep 

The darkling lips and eyes. 

And, mingling softly in their dreams, 

That holy kiss of sea and sky 
Transfused the shadows and the gleams 

Of Time and of Eternity: 
The dusky face looked up and gave 

To heaven its golden shadowed calm; 
The face of light fulfilled the wave 

With blissful wings and fans of palm. 



90 THE ENCHANTED ISLAND 

Above, the tufted rosy peaks 

That melted in the warm blue skies, 
Below, the purple-shadowed creeks 

That glassed the birds of Paradise — 
A bridal knot, it hung in heaven; 

And, all around, the still lagoon 
From bloom of dawn to blush of even 

Curved like a crescent moon. 

And there we wandered evermore 

Thro' boyhood's everlasting years, 
Listening the murmur of the shore 

As one that lifts a shell and hears 
The murmur of forgotten seas 

Around some lost Broceliande, 
The sigh of sweet Eternities 

That turn the world to fairy -land. 

That turned our isle to a single pearl 
Glowing in measureless waves of wine! 

Above, below, the clouds would curl, 
Above, below, the stars would shine 

In sky and sea. We hung in heaven! 
Time and space were but elfin-sweet 

Rock-bound pools for the dawn and even 
^ To wade with their rosy feet. 

tOur pirate cavern faced the West: 

1] We closed its door with screens of palm, 

iWhile some went out to seek the nest 

Wherein the Phoenix, breathing balm, 
Burns and dies to live for ever 

(How should we dream we lived to die?) 
And some would fish in the purple river 
That thro' the hills brought down the sky. 

And some would dive in the lagoon 
Like sunbeams, and all round our isle 

Swim thro' the lovely crescent moon, 
Glimpsing, for breathless mile on mile, 



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND 91 

The wild sea-woods that bloomed below, 

The rainbow fish, the coral cave 
Where vanishing swift as melting snow 

A mermaid's arm would wave. 

Then dashing shoreward thro' the spray- 
On sun-lit sands they cast them down, 

Or in the white sea-daisies lay 

With sun-stained bodies rosy-brown, 

Content to watch the foam-bows flee 
Across the shelving reefs and bars, 

With wild eyes gazing out to sea 
Like happy haunted stars. 



IV 



And 0, the wild sea-maiden 

Drifting through the starlit air, 
With white arms blossom-laden 

And the sea-scents in her hair: 
Sometimes we heard her singing 

The midnight forest through. 
Or saw a soft hand flinging 

Blossoms drenched with starry dew 
Into the dreaming purple cave; 

And, sometimes, far and far away 
Beheld across the glooming wave 

Beyond the dark lagoon, 
Beyond the silvery foaming bar, 

The black bright rock whereon she lay 
Like a honey-coloured star 

Singing to the breathless moon, 
Singing in the silent night 
Till the stars for sheer delight 
Closed their eyes, and drowsy birds 
In the midmost forest spray 
Took their heads from out their wings, 
Thinking — it is Ariel sings 
And we must catch the witching words 

And sing them o'er by day. 



92 UNITY 

V 

And then, there came a breath, a breath 
Cool and strange and dark as death, 
A stealing shadow, not of the earth 
But fresh and wonder-wild as birth. 
I know not when the hour began 
That changed the child's heart in the man, 
Or when the colours began to wane. 
But all our roseate island lay 
Stricken, as when an angel dies 
With wings of rainbow-tinctured grain 
Withering, and his radiant eyes 
Closing. Pitiless walls of grey 
Gathered around us, a growing tomb 
From which it seemed not death or doom 
Could roll the stone away. 

VI 

Yet — I remember — 

a gleam, a gleam, 
(Or ever I dreamed that youth could die!) 
Of sparkling waves and warm blue sky 

As out of sleep into a dream. 

Wonder-wild for the old sweet pain, 
We sailed into that unknown sea 
Through the gates of Eternity. 

Peacefully close your mortal eyes 

For ye shall wake to it again 
In Paradise, in Paradise. 



UNITY 

I 

Heart of my heart, the world is young; 

Love lies hidden in every rose! 
Every song that the skylark sung 

Once, we thought, must come to a close: 



THE HILL-FLOWER 93 

Now we know the spirit of song, 

Song that is merged in the chant of the whole, 
Hand in hand as we wander along. 

What should we doubt of the years that roll? 



II 



Heart of my heart, we cannot die! 

Love triumphant in flower and tree, 
Every life that laughs at the sky 

TeUs us nothing can cease to be: 
One, we are one with a song to-day, 

One with the clover that scents the wold, 
One with the Unknown, far away, 

One with the stars, when earth grows old. 



Ill 

Heart of my heart, we are one with the wind. 

One with the clouds that are whirled o'er the lea, 
One in many, broken and blind. 

One as the waves are at one with the sea! 
Ay! when life seems scattered apart. 

Darkens, ends as a tale that is told, 
One, we are one, heart of my heart. 

One, still one, while the world grows old. 



THE HILL-FLOWER 

It is my faith that every flower 

Enjoys the air it breathes — 
So was it sung one golden hour 

Among the woodbine wreaths; 
And yet, though wet with living dew, 
The song seemed far more sweet than true. 



94 THE HILL-FLOWER 

Blind creatures of the sun and air 

I dreamed it but a dream 
That, like Narcissus, would confer 

With self in every stream, 
And to the leaves and boughs impart 
The tremors of a human heart. 

To-day a golden pinion stirred 

The world's Bethesda pool, 
And I believed the song I heard 

Nor put my heart to school; 
And through the rainbows of the dream 
I saw the gates of Eden gleam. 

The rain had ceased. The great hills rolled 

In silence to the deep: 
The gorse in waves of green and gold 

Perfumed their lonely sleep; 
And, at my feet, one elfin flower 
Drooped, blind with glories of the shower. 

I stooped — a giant from the sky — 

Above its piteous shield, 
And, suddenly, the dream went by, 

And there — was heaven revealed! 
I stooped to pluck it; but my hand 
Paused, mid-way, o'er its fairyland. 

Not of mine own was that strange voice, 
"Pluck — tear a star from heaven!" 

Mine only was the awful choice 
To scoff and be forgiven 

Or hear the very grass I trod 

Whispering the gentle thoughts of God. 

I know not if the hill-flower's place 

Beneath that mighty sky, 
Its lonely and aspiring grace. 

Its beauty born to die, 
Touched me, I know it seemed to be 
Cherished by all Eternity. 



ACTJEON 95 

Man, doomed to crush at every stride 

A hundred lives like this 
Which by their weakness were allied, 

If by naught else, to his, 
Can only for a flash discern 
What passion through the whole doth yearn. 

Not into words can I distil 

The pity or the pain 
Which hallowing all that lonely hill 

Cried out "Refrain, refrain," 
Then breathed from earth and sky and sea, 
"Herein you did it unto Me." 

Somewhile that hill was heaven's own breast, 

The flower its joy and grief, 
Hugged close and fostered and caressed 

In every brief bright leaf: 
And, ere I went thro' sun and dew, 
I leant and gently touched it, too. 



ACTiEON 

"Who stood beside the naked Swift-footed 
And bound his forehead with Proserpine's hair." 

— Bbowning (Pauline) 



Light of beauty, 0, "perfect in whiteness," 

Softly suffused thro' the world's dark shrouds, 
Kindling them all as they pass by thy brightness, — 

Hills, men, cities, — a pageant of clouds. 
Thou to whom Life and Time surrender 

All earth's forms as to heaven's deep care. 
Who shall pierce to thy naked splendour, 

Bind his brows with thy hairf 



96 ACTiEON 

II 

Swift thro' the sprays when Spring grew bolder 
Young Actseon swept to the chase! 

Golden the fawn-skin, back from the shoulder 
Flowing, set free the limbs' lithe grace, 

Muscles of satin that rippled like sunny- 
Streams — a hunter, a young athlete, 

Scattering dews and crushing out honey 
Under his sandalled feet. 



Ill 

Sunset softened the crags of the mountain, 

SUence melted the hunter's heart, 
Only the sob of a falling fountain 

Pulsed in a deep ravine apart: 
All the forest seemed waiting breathless. 

Eager to whisper the dying day 
Some rich word that should utter the deathless 

Secret of youth and May. 

IV 

Down, as to May thro' the flowers that attend her, 

Slowly, on tip-toe, down the ravine 
Fair as the sun-god, poising a slender 

Spear like a moon-shaft silver and green, 
Stole he! Ah, did the oak-wood ponder 

Youth's glad dream in its heart of gloom? 
Dryad or fawn was it started yonder? 

Ah, what whisper of doom? 



Gold, thro' the ferns as he gazed and listened, 
Shone the soul of the wood's deep dream. 

One bright glade and a pool that glistened 
Full in the face of the sun's last gleam, — 



ACTiEON 97 



Gold in the heart of a violet dingle! 

Young Actseon, beware! beware! 
Who shall track, while the pulses tingle, 

Spring to her woodland lair? 



VI 

See, at his feet, what mystical quiver, 

Maiden's girdle and robe of snow, 
Tossed aside by the green glen-river 

Ere she bathed in the pool below? 
All the fragance of April meets him 

Full in the face with its young sweet breath; 
Yet, as he steals to the glade, there greets him-™" 

Hush, what whisper of death? 



VII 

Lo, in the violets, lazily dreaming, 

Young Diana, the huntress, lies: 
One white side thro' the violets gleaming 

Heaves and sinks with her golden sighs. 
One white breast like a diamond crownet 

Couched in a velvet casket glows, 
One white arm, tho' the violets drown it, 

Thrills their purple with rose. 



VIII 

Buried in fragrance, the half-moon flashes, 

Beautiful, clouded, from head to heel : 
One white foot in the warm wave plashes, 

Violets tremble and half reveal. 
Half conceal, as thej^ Idss, the slender 

Slope and curve of her sleeping limbs: 
Violets bury one half the splendour 

Still, as thro' heaven, she swims. 
7 



98 ACTION 

IX 

Cold as the white rose waking at daybreak 

Lifts the light of her lovely face, 
Poised on an arm she watches the spray break 

Over the slim white ankle's grace, 
Watches the wave that sleeplessly tosses 

Kissing the pure foot's pink sea-shells, 
Watches the long-leaved heaven-dark mosses 

Drowning their star-bright bells. 



X 

Swift as the Spring where the South has brightened 

Earth with bloom in one passionate night, 
Swift as the violet heavens had lightened 

Sv/ift to perfection, blinding, white, 
Dian arose: and Actseon saw her. 

Only he since the world began! 
Only in dreams could Endymion draw her 

Down to the heart of man. 



XI 

Fair as the dawn upon Himalaya 

Anger flashed from her cheek's pure rose, 
Alpine peaks at the passage of Maia 

Flushed not fair as her breasts' white snows. 
Ah, fair form of the heaven's completeness. 

Who shall sing thee or who shall say 
Whence that "high perfection of sweetness," 

Perfect to save or slay? 



XII 

Perfect in beauty, beauty the portal 

Here on earth to the world's deep shrine. 

Beauty hidden in all things mortal, 
Who shall mingle his eyes with thine? 



ACTION 99 



Thou, to whom Life and Death surrender 
All earth' s forms as to heaven's deep care, 

Who shall pierce to thy naked splendour, 
Bind his broivs with thy hair? 



XIII ! 

j 

Beauty, perfect in blinding whiteness, ; 

Softly suffused thro' the world's dark shrouds, 

Kindling them all as they pass by her brightness,-— ] 

Hills, men, cities, — a pageant of clouds, ] 

She, the unchanging, shepherds their changes, \ 

Bids them mingle and form and flow, j 

Flowers and flocks and the great hill-ranges j 

Follow her cry and go. ' 



XIV 

Swift as the sweet June lightning flashes, 

Down she stoops to the purpling pool, 
Sudden and swift her white hand dashes 

Rainbow mists in his eyes! "Ah, fool! 
Hunter," she cries to tlie young Actaeon, 

"Change to the hunted, rise and fly, 
Swift ere the wild pack utter its psean, 

Swift for thy hounds draw nigh!" 



XV 

Lo, as he trembles, the greenwood branches 

Dusk his brows with their antlered pride! 
Lo, as a stag thrown back on its haunches 

Quivers, with velvet nostrils wide, 
Lo, he changes ! The soft fur darkens 

Down to the fetlock's lifted fear! — 
Hounds are baying! — he snuffs and hearkens, 

"Fly, for the stag is here!" 



100 ACTION 

XVI 

Swift as he leapt thro' the ferns, Actseon, 

Young Actseon, the lordly stag, 
Full and mellow the deep-mouthed psean 

Swelled behind him from crag to crag: 
Well he remembered that sweet throat leading, 

Wild with terror he raced and strained, 
On thro' the darkness, thorn-swept, bleeding: 

Ever they gained and gained! 

XVII 

Death, like a darkling huntsman holloed — 

Swift, Actseon ! — desire and shame 
Leading the pack of the passions followed. 

Red jaws frothing with white-hot flame. 
Volleying out of the glen, they leapt up. 

Snapped and fell short of the foam-flecked thighs. 
Inch by terrible inch they crept up, 

Shadows with blood-shot eyes. 

XVIII 

Still with his great heart bursting asunder 

Still thro' the night he struggled and bled; 
Suddenly round him the pack's low thunder 

Surged, the hounds that his own hand fed 
Fastened in his throat, with red jaws drinking 

Deep! — for a moment his antlered pride 
Soared o'er their passionate seas, then, sinking, 

Fell for the fangs to divide. 

XIX 

Light of beauty, 0, perfect in whiteness, 
Softly sufused thro' the years' dark veils, 

Kindling them all as they pass by her brightness, 
Filling our hearts with her old-ioorld tales, 



LUCIFER'S FEAST 101 

SJie, the unchanging, shepherds their changes, 

Bids them mingle and form and flow, 
Flowers and flocks and the great hill-ranges 

Follow her cry and go. 

XX 

Still, in the violets, lazily dreaming 

Young Diana, the huntress, lies: 
One white side thro' the violets gleaming 

Heaves and sinks with her golden sighs; 
One white breast like a diamond crownet 

Couched in a velvet casket glows. 
One white arm, tho' the violets drown it, 

Thrills their purple with rose. 



LUCIFER'S FEAST 

(a EUROPEAN NIGHTMARE.) 

To celebrate the ascent of man, one gorgeous night 
Lucifer gave a feast. 

Its world-bewildering light 
Danced in Belshazzar's tomb, and the old kings dead and gone 
Felt their dust creep to jewels in crumbling Babylon. 

Two nations were His guests — the top and flower of Time, 
The fore-front of an age which now had learned to climb 
The slopes where Newton knelt, the heights that Shakespeare 

trod. 
The mountains whence Beethoven rolled the voice of God. 

Lucifer's feasting-lamps were like the morning stars, 
But at the board-head shone the blood-red lamp of Mars. 

League upon glittering league, white front and flabby face 
Bent o'er the groaning board. Twelve brave men droned the 

grace; 
But with instinctive tact, in courtesy to their Host, 
Omitted God the Son and God the Holy Ghost, 
And to the God of Battles raised their humble prayers. 



102 LUCIFER'S FEAST 

Then, then, like thunder, all the guests drew up their chairs. 
By each a drinking-cup, yellow, almost, as gold, 
( The blue eye-sockets gave the thumbs a good firm hold) 
Adorned the flowery board. Could even brave men shrink? 

Why if the cups were skulls, they had red wine to drink! 
And had not each a napkin, white and peaked and proud, 
Waiting to wipe his mouth? A napkin? Nay, a shroud! 
This was a giant's feast, on hell's imperial scale. 
The blades glistened. 

The shrouds — 0, in one snowy gale. 
The pink hands fluttered them out, and spread them on their 

knees. 
Who knew what gouts might drop, what filthy flakes of grease, 
Now that o'er every shoulder, through the coiling steam, 
Inhuman faces peered, with v/olfish eyes a-gleam. 
And grey-faced vampire Lusts that whinneyed in each ear 
Hints of the hideous courses? 

None may name them here? 
None? And we may not see! The distant cauldrons cloak 
The lava-coloured plains with clouds of umber smoke. 
Nay, by that shrapnel-light, by those wild shooting stars 
That rip the clouds away with fiercer fire than Mars, 
They are painted sharp as death. If these can eat and drink 
Chatter and laugh and rattle their knives, why should we shrink 
From empty names? We know those ghastly gleams are true: 
Why should Christ cry again — They know not what they do? 
They, heirs of all the ages, sons of Shakespeare's land. 
They, brothers of Beethoven, smiling, cultured, bland. 
Whisper with sidling heads to ghouls with bloody lips. 

Each takes upon his plate a small round thing that drips 
And quivers, a child's heart. 

Miles on miles 
The glittering table bends o'er that first course, and smiles; 
For, through the wreaths of smoke, the grey Lusts bear aloft 
The second course, on leaden chargers, large and soft. 
Bodies of women, steaming in an opal mist, 
Red-branded here and there where vampire-teeth have kissed. 



LUCIFER'S FEAST 103 

But white as pig's flesh, newly killed, and cleanly dressed, 
A lemon in each mouth and roses round each breast, 
Emblems to show how deeply, sweetly satisfied, 
The breasts, the lips, can sleep, whose children fought and 

died 
For — what? For country? God, once more Thy shrapnel- 
light! 

Let those dark slaughter-houses burst upon our sight. 
These kitchens are too clean, too near the tiring room! 
Let Thy white shrapnel rend those filthier veils of gloom, 
Rip the last fogs away and strip the foul thing bare! 
One lightning-picture — see — yon bayonet-bristling square 
Mown down, mown down, mown down, wild swathes of crimson 

wheat, 
The white-eyed charge, the blast, the terrible retreat. 
The blood-greased wheels of cannon thundering into line 
O'er that red writhe of pain, rent groin and shattered spine. 
The moaning faceless face that kissed its child last night. 
The raw pulp of the heart that beat for love's delight. 
The heap of twisting bodies, clotted and congealed 
In one red huddle of anguish on the loathsome field. 
The seas of obscene slaughter spewing their blood-red yeast. 
Multitudes pouring out their entrails for the feast. 
Knowing not why, but dying, they think, for some high cause. 
Dying for "hearth and home," their flags, their creeds, their 

laws. 
Ask of the Bulls and Bears, ask if they understand 
How both great grappling armies bleed for their own land; 
For in that faith they die! These hoodwinked thousands die 
Simply as heroes, gulled by hell's profoundest lie. 
Who keeps the slaughter-house? Not these, not these who 

gain 
Nought but the sergeant's shilling and the homeless pain! 
Who pulls the ropes? Not these, who buy their crust of bread 
With the salt sweat of labour! These but bury their dead 
Then sweat again for food! 

Christ, is the hour not come, 
To send forth one great voice and strike this dark hell dumb, 
A voice to out-crash the cannon, one united cry 
To sweep these wild-beast standards down that stain the sky, 



104 LUCIFER'S FEAST 

To hurl these Lions and Bears and Eagles to their doom, 
One voice, one heart, one soul, one fire that shall consume 
The last red reeking shreds that flicker against the blast 
And purge the Augean stalls we call "our glorious past"! 
One voice from dawn and sunset, one almighty voice, 
Full-throated as the sea — ye sons o' the earth, rejoice! 
Beneath the all-loving sky, confederate kings ye stand, 
Fling open wide the gates o' the world-wide Fatherland. 



Poor fools, we dare not dream it! We that pule and whine 
Of art and science, we, whose great souls leave no shrine 
Unshattered, we that climb the Sinai Shakespeare trod, 
The Olivets where Beethoven walked and talked with God, 
We that have weighed the stars and reined the lightning, we 
That stare thro' heaven and plant our footsteps in the sea. 
We whose great souls have risen so far above the creeds 
That we can jest at Christ and leave Him where He bleeds, 
A legend of the dark, a tale so false or true 
That howsoe'er we jest at Him, the jest sounds new. 
(Our weariest dinner-tables never tire of that! 
Let the clown sport with Christ, never the jest falls flat!) 
Poor fools, we dare not dream a dream so strange, so great, 
As on this ball of dust to found one "world-wide state," 
To float one common flag above our little lands. 
And ere our little sun grows cold to clasp our hands 
In friendship for a moment! 



Hark, the violins 
Are swooning through the mist. The great blue band begins, 
Playing, in dainty scorn, a hymn we used to know. 
How long was it, ten thousand thousand years ago? 

There is a green hill far away 

Beside a City wall! — 
And 0, the music swung a-stray 

With a solemn dying fall; 
For it was a pleasant jest to play 

Hymns in the Devil's Hall. 



LUCIFER'S FEAST 

And yet, and yet, if aught be true, 

This dream we left behind, 
This childish Christ, be-mocked anew 

To please the men of mind, 
Yet hung so far beyond the flight 

Of our most lofty thought 
That — ^Lucifer laughed at us that night 

Not with us, as he ought. 

Beneath the blood-red lamp of Mars, 

Cloaked with a scarlet cloud 
He gazed along the line of stars 

Above the guzzling crowd: 
Sinister, thunder-scarred, he raised 

His great world-wandering eyes, 
And on some distant vision gazed 

Beyond our cloudy skies. 

''Poor bats," he sneered, "their jungle-dark 

Civilisation's noon! 
Poor wolves, that hunt in packs and bark 

Beneath the grinning moon; 
Poor fools, that cast the cross away, 

Before they break the sword; 
Poor sots, who take the night for day; 

Have mercy on me, Lord. 

''Beyond their wisdom's deepest skies 

I see Thee hanging yet, 
The love still hungering in Thine eyes. 

Thy plaited crown still wet! 
Thine arms outstretched to fold them all 

Beneath Thy sheltering breast; 
But — since they will not hear Thy call, 

Lord, I forbear to jest. 

"Lord, I forbear! The day I fell 
^ I fell at least thro' pride! 
ttather than these should share my hell 
Take me, thou Crucified! 



105 



106 LUCIFER'S FEAST 

0, let me share Thy cross of grief, 

And let me work Thy will, 

As morning star, or dying thief. 

Thy fallen angel still. 



"Lord, I forbear! For Thee, at least, 

In pain so like to inine. 
The mighty meaning of their feast 

Is plain as bread- and wine: 
0, smile once more, far off, alone! 

Since these nor hear nor see, 
From my deep hell, so like Thine own, 

Lord Christ, I pity Thee." 

Yet once again, he thought, they shall be fully tried, 
If they be devils or fools too light for hell's deep pride. 

The champ of teeth was over, and the reeking room 
Gaped for the speeches now. Across the sulphurous fume 
Lucifer gave a sign. The guests stood thundering up! 
"Gentlemen, charge your glasses!" 

Every yellow cup 
Frothed with the crimson blood. They brandished them on 

high! 
"Gentlemen, drink to those who fight and know not why!" 

And in the bubbling blood each nose was buried deep. 
"Gentlemen, drink to those who sowed that we might reap! 
Drink to the pomp, pride, circumstance, of glorious war, 
The grand self-sacrifice that made us what we are ! 
And drink to the peace-lovers who believe that peace 
Is War, red, bloody War; for War can never cease 
Unless we drain the veins of peace to fatten War! 
Gentlemen, drink to the brains that made us what we are! 
Drink to self-sacrifice that helps us all to shake 
The world with tramp of armies. Germany, awake! 
England, awake! Shakespeare's, Beethoven's Fatherland, 
Are you not both aware, do you not understand, 



VETERANS 107 

Self-sacrifice is competition? It is the law 
Of Life, and so, though both of you are wholly right, 
Self-sacrifice requires that both of you should fight." 
And "Hoch! hoch! hoch!" they cried; and "Hip, hip, hip. 
Hurrah!" 



This raised the gorge of Lucifer. With one deep "Bah," 
Above those croaking toads he towered like Gabriel; 



Then straightway left the table and went home to hell. 



VETERANS 

J 

(written for the relief fund of the CRIMEAN '' 

VETERANS.) 



When the last charge sounds ] 

And the battle thunders o'er the plain, i 

Thunders o'er the trenches where the red streams flow, ' \ 

Will it not be well with us, ^ 

Veterans, veterans, 1 

If, beneath your torn old flag, we burst upon the foe? j 



II 

When the last post sounds 

And the night is on the battle-field. 
Night and rest at last from all the tumult of our wars, 

Will it not be well with us, 

Veterans, veterans. 
If, with duty done like yours, we lie beneath the stars? 



108 THE QUEST RENEWED 

III 

When the great reveille sounds 

For the terrible last Sabaoth, 
All the legions of the dead shall hear the trumpet ring! 

Will it not be well with us, 

Veterans, veterans. 
If, beneath your torn old flag, we rise to meet our King? 



THE QUEST RENEWED 

It is too soon, too soon, though time be brief, 

Quite to forswear thy quest, 
O Light, whose farewell dyes the falling leaf. 

Fades thro' the fading west. 

Thou'rt flown too soon ! I stretch my hands out still, 

0, Light of Life, to Thee, 
Who leav'st an Olivet in each far blue hill, 

A sorrow on every sea. 

It is too soon, here while the loud world roars 

For wealth and power and fame. 
Too soon quite to forget those other shores 

Afar, from whence I came; 

Too soon even to forget the first dear dream 

Dreamed far away, when tears could freely flow; 

And life seemed infinite, as that sky's great gleam 
Deepened, to which I go; 

Too soon even to forget the fluttering fire 

And those old books beside the friendly hearth, 

When time seemed endless as my own desire, 
And angels walked our earth; 

Too soon quite to forget amid the throng 

What once the silent hills, the sounding beach 

Taught me — where singing was the prize of song, 
And heaven within my reach. 



THE LIGHTS OF HOME 109 

It is too soon amid the cynic sneers, 

The sophist smiles, the greedy mouths and hands, 
Quite to forget the light of those dead years 

And my lost mountain-lands; 



Too soon to lose that everlasting hope 

(For so it seemed) of youth in love's pure rcigT/j 

Though while I linger on this darkening slope 
Nought seems quite worth the pain. 



It is too soon for me to break that trust, 
O, Light of Light, flown far past sun and moony 

Burn back thro' this dark panoply of dust; 
Or let me follow — soon. 



THE LIGHTS OF HOME 

Pilot, how far from home? — 

Not far, not far to-night, 

A flight of spray, a sea-bird's flight, 
A flight of tossing foam, 

And then the lights of home! — 



And, yet again, how far? 

And seems the way so brief? 

Those lights beyond the roaring reef 
Were lights of moon and star, 

Far, far, none knows how far! 



Pilot, how far from home? — 
The great stars pass away 
Before Him as a flight of spray, 

Moons as a flight of foam ! 
I see the lights of home. 



110 'TWEEN THE LIGHTS 

NEW POEMS 

'TWEEN THE LIGHTS 

"The Nine men's morrice is filled up with mud . . . 
From our debate, from our dissension." 

— Shakespeare 



Fairies, come back! "We have not seen 
Your dusky foot-prints on the green 
This many a year. No frolic now 
Shakes the dew from the hawthorn-bough. 
Never a man and never a maid 
Spies you in the blue-bell shade ; 
Yet, where the nine men's morrice stood, 
Our spades are clearing out the mud. 

Chorus. — Come, little irised heralds, fling 

Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing 
The bright eyes and the cordial hand 
Of brotherhood thro' all our land. 



II 



Fairies, come back! Our pomp of gold. 
Our blazing noon, grows grey and old; 
The scornful glittering ages wane: 
Forgive, forget, come back again. 
This is our England's Hallowe'en! 
Come, trip it, trip it o'er the green, 
Trip it, amidst the roaring mart. 
In the still meadows of the heart. 

Come, little irised heralds, fling 
Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing 
The bright eyes and the cordial hand 
Of brotherhood thro' all our land. 



'TWEEN THE LIGHTS 111 

III 

Fairies, come back! Once more the gleams 
Of your lost Eden haunt our dreams, 
Where Evil, at the touch of Good, 
Withers in the Enchanted Wood : 
Fairies, come back! Drive gaunt Despair 
And Famine to their ghoulish lair! 
Tap at each heart's bright window-pane 
Thro' merry England once again. 

Come, little irised heralds, fling 
Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing 
The bright eyes and the cordial hand 
Of brotherhood thro' all our land. 

IV 

Fairies, come back! And, if you bring 
That long-expected song to sing, 
Ciss needs not, ere she welcomes you, 
To find a sixpence in her shoe! 
If, of the mud he clears away, 
Tom bears the ignoble stain to-day, 
Come back, and he will not forget 
The heavens that yearn beyond us yet. 

Come, little irised heralds, fling 
Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing 
The bright eyes and the cordial hand 
Of brotherhood thro' all our land. 



Yet, if for this you will not come, 
Your friends, the children, call you home. 
Fairies, they wear no May-day crowns. 
Your playmates in those grim black towns 
Look, fairies, how they peak and pine, 
How hungrily their great eyes shine! 
From fevered alley and foetid lane 
Plead the thin arms — Come back again! 



112 'TWEEN THE LIGHTS 

Come, little irised heralds, fling 
Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing 
The bright eyes and the cordial hand 
Of brotherhood thro' all our land. 



VI 



We have named the stars and weighed the moon, 

Counted our gains and . . . lost the boon, 

If this be the end of aU our lore — 

To draw the blind and close the door! 

O, lift the latch, slip in between 

The things which we have heard and seen, 

Slip thro' the fringes of the blind 

Into the souls of all mankind. 



Come, little irised heralds, fling 
Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing 
The bright eyes and the cordial hand 
Of brotherhood thro' all our land. 



VII 

Fairies, come back! Our wisdom dies 

Beneath your deeper, starrier skies! 

We have reined the lightning, probed the flower: 

Bless, as of old, our twilight hour! 

Bring dreams, and let the dreams be true, 

Bring hope that makes each heart anew, 

Bring love that knits all hearts in one; 

Then — sing of heaven and bring the sun? 



Come, little irised heralds, fling 
Earth's Eden-gates apart, and sing 
The bright eyes and the cordial hand 
Of brotherhood thro' all our land. 



CREATION 113 

CREATION 

In the beginning, there was nought 

But heaven, one Majesty of Light, 
Beyond all speech, beyond all thought, 

Beyond all depth, beyond aU height, 
Consummate heaven, the first and last, 

Enfolding in its perfect prime 
No future rushing to the past, 

But one rapt Now, that knew not Space or Time. 

Formless it was, being gold on gold, 

And void — but with that complete Life 
Where music could no wings unfold 

Till lo, God smote the strings of strife! 
"Myself unto Myself am Throne, 

Myself unto Myself am Thrall 
I that am All am all alone," j 

He said, "Yea, I have nothing, having all." ;i 

And, gathering round His mount of bhss i 

The angel-squadrons of His will, | 

He said, "One battle yet there is ] 

To win, one vision to fulfil! .• 

Since heaven where'er I gaze expands, i 

And power that knows no strife or cry, | 

Weakness shall bind and pierce My hands ' 

And make a world for Me wherein to die. j 

i 

"All might, all vastness and all glory i 

Being Mine, I must descend and make 
Out of My heart a song, a story 

Of little hearts that burn and break; 

Out of My passion without end < 

I will make little azure seas, j 
And into small sad fields descend 

And make green grass, white daisies, rustling trees." \ 

Then shrank His angels, knowing He thrust 

His arms out East and West and gave ] 

For every little dream of dust | 

Part of His life as to a gravel ' ,] 



114 CREATION 

"Enough, Father, for Thy words 

Have pierced Thy hands!" But, low and sweet, 

He said "Sunsets and streams and birds, 

And drifting clouds !" — The purple stained His feet. — 

"Enough!" His angels moaned in fear, 

"Father, Thy words have pierced Thy side!" 
He whispered, "Roses shall grow there. 

And there must be a hawthorn-tide, 
And ferns, dewy at dawn," and still 

They moaned — "Enough, the red drops bleed!" 
"And," sweet and low, "on every hill," 

He said, "I will have flocks and lambs to lead." 

His angels bowed their heads beneath 

Their wings till that great pang was gone: 
"Pour not Thy soid out unto Death!" 

They moaned, and still His Love flowed on, 
"There shall be small white wings to stray 

From bliss to bliss, from bloom to bloom, 
And blue flowers in the wheat; and — " ''Stay! 

Speak not," they cried, "the word that seals Thy tomb!" 

He spake — "I have thought of a little child 

That I will have there to embark 
On small adventures in the wild. 

And front slight perils in the dark; 
And I ^^^ll hide from him and lure 

His laughing eyes with suns and moons, 
And rainbows that shall not endure; 

And — when he' is weary, sing him drowsy tunes." 

His angels fell before Him weeping 

"Enough! Tempt not the Gates of Hell!" 
He said, "His soul is in his keeping 

That we may love each other well, 
And lest the dark too much affright him, 

I will strow countless little stars 
Across his childish skies to light him 

That he may wage in peace his mimic wars; 



THE PEACEMAKER 115 

"And oft forget Me as he plays 

With swords and childish merchandize, 
Or with his elfin balance weighs, 

Or with his foot-rule metes, the skies; 
Or builds his castles by the deep, 

Or tunnels through the rocks, and then — ■ 
Turn to Me as he falls asleep, 

And, in his dreams, feel for My hand again. 

"And when he is older he shall be 

My friend and walk here at My side; 
Or — when he wills — grow young with Me, 

And, to that happy world where once we died 
Descending through the calm blue weather. 

Buy life once more with our immortal breath, 
And wander through the little fields together. 

And taste of Love and Death." 



THE PEACEMAKER. j 

Silently over his vast imperial seas, i 

Over his sentinel fleets the Shadow swept | 

And all his armies slept. 1 

There was but one quick challenge at the gate, ' 

Then — the cold menace of that out-stretched hand, ^ 

Waving aside the panoplies of State, j 

Brought the last faithful watchers to their knees, ! 
And lightning flashed the grief from land to land. 

Mourn, Britain, mourn, not for a king alone! ! 
This was the people's king! His purple throne 

Was in their hearts. They shared it. Millions of swords 1 

Could not have shaken it! Sharers of this doom, ] 

This democratic doom which all men know, I 

His Common-weal, in this great common woe, j 

Veiling its head in the universal gloom, i 

With that majestic grief which knows not words, ! 

Bows o'er a world-wide tomb. ' 



116 THE PEACEMAKER 

Mourn, Europe, for our England set this Crown 

In splendour past the reach of temporal power, 

Secure above the thunders of the hour, 
A sun in the great skies of her renown, 

A sun to hold her wheeling worlds in one 
By its ov/n course of duty pre-ordained, 

Where'er the meteors flash and fall, a sun 
With its great course of duty! 

So he reigned. 

And died in its observance. Mightier he 
Than any despot, in his people's love. 
He served that law which rules the Thrones above. 

That world-wide law which by the raging sea 
Abased the flatterers of Canute and makes 

The King that abnegates all lesser power 

A rock in time of trouble, and a tower 
Of strength where'er the tidal tempest breaks; 

That world-wide law whose name is harmony, 
Whose service perfect freedom! 

And his name 
The Peacemaker, through all the future years 
Shall burn, a glorious and prophetic flame, 
A beaconing sun that never shall go down, 
A sun to speed the world's diviner morrow, 
A sun that shines the brighter for our sorrow; 
For, 0, what splendour in a monarch's crown 
Vies with the splendour of his people's tears? 

And now, now, while the sorrowful trumpet is blown. 

From island to continent, zone to imperial zone. 

And the flags of the nations are lowered in grief with our own; 

Now, while the roll of the drums that for battle were dumb 

When he reigned, salute his passing; and low on the breeze 

From the snow-bound North to the Australasian seas 

Surges the solemn lament — 0, shall it not come, 

A glimpse of that mightier union of all mankind? 

Now, though our eyes, as they gaze on the vision, grow blind, 

Now, while the world is all one funeral knell, 

And the mournful cannon thunder his great farewell, 



THE SAILOR-KING 117 

Now, while the bells of a thousand cities toll, 
Remember, England, remember the ageless goal, 
Rally the slumbering faith in the depths of thy soul, 
Lift up thine ej^es to the Kingdom for which he fought. 
That Empire of Peace and Good-will, for which to his death- 
hour he wrought. 
Then, then while the pomp of the world seenas a little thing, 
Ay, though by the world it be said. 
The King is dead! 
We shall lift up our hearts and answer — Long live the King! 



THE SAILOR-KING 

The fleet, the fleet puts out to sea 

In a thunder of blinding foam to-night, 
"With a bursting wreck-strewn reef to lee, 

But — a seaman fired yon beacon-light I 
Seamen hailing a seaman, know — 

Free-men crowning a free-man, sing — 
The worth of that light where the great ships go, 

The signal-fire of the king. 

Cloud and wind may shift and veer: 

This is steady and this is sure, 
A signal over our hope and fear, 

A pledge of the strength that shall endure — 
Having no part in our storm-tossed strife — 

A sign of union, which shall bring 
Knowledge to men of their close-knit life, 

The signal-fire of the king. 

His friends are the old grey glorious waves, 

The wide world round, the wide world round, 
That have roared with our guns and covered our graves 

From Nombre Dios to Plymouth Sound; 
And his cro"mi shall shine, a central sun 

Round which the planet-nations sing, 
Going their ways, but linked in one, 

As the ships of our sailor-king. 



118 THE FIDDLER'S FAREWELL 

Many the ships, but a single fleet; 

Many the roads, but a single goal; 
And a light, a light where all roads meet, 

The beacon-fire of an Empire's soul ; 
The worth of that light his seamen know, 

Through all the deaths that the storm can bring 
The crown of their comrade-ship a-glow, 

The signal-fire of the king. 



THE FIDDLER'S FAREWELL 

With my fiddle to my shoulder, 

And my hair turning grey, 
And my heart growing older 

I must shuffle on my way! 
Tho' there's not a hearth to greet me 

I must reap as I sowed. 
And — the sunset shall meet me 

At the turn of the road. 



0, the whin's a dusky yellow 

And the road a rosy white, 
And the blackbird's call is mellow 

At the falling of night; 
And there's honey in the heather 

Where we'll make our last abode, 
My tunes and me together 

At the turn of the road. 



I have fiddled for your city 

Thro' market-place and inn! 
I have poured forth my pity 

On your sorrow and your sin! 
But your riches are your burden, 

And your pleasure is your goad! 
I've the whin-gold for guerdon 

At the turn of the road. 



TO A PESSIMIST 119 

Your village-lights '11 call me 

As the lights of home the dead; 
But a black night befall me 

Ere your pillows rest my head! 
God be praised, tho' like a jewel 

Every cottage casement showed, 
There's a star that's not so cruel 

At the turn of the road. 

Nay, beautiful and kindly 

Are the faces drawing nigh, 
But I gaze on them blindly 

And hasten, hasten by; 
For 0, no face of wonder 

On earth has ever glowed 
Like the One that waits me yonder 

At the turn of the road. 

Her face is lit with splendour, 

She dwells beyond the skies; 
But deep, deep and tender 

Are the tears in her eyes: 
The angels see them glistening 

In pity for my load. 
And — she's waiting there, she's listening, 

At the turn of the road. 



TO A PESSIMIST 

Life like a cruel mistress woos 

The passionate heart of man, you say, 

Only in mockery to refuse 

His love, at last, and turn away. 

To me she seems a queen that knows 
How great is love — but ah, how rare! — 

And, pointing heavenward ere she goes, 
Gives him the rose from out her hair. 



120 MOUNT IDA 

MOUNT IDA 

[This poem commemorates an event of some j^ears ago, when a young 
Englishman — still remembered by many of his contemporaries at 
Oxford — went up into Mount Ida and was never seen again.] 



Not C5T)ress, but this warm pine-plumage now 

Fragrant with sap, I pluck; nor bid you weep, 
Ye Muses that still haunt the heavenly brow 

Of Ida, though the ascent is hard and steep: 
Weep not for him who left us wrapped in sleep 
At dawn beneath the holy mountain's breast 
And all alone from Ilion's gleaming shore 
Clomb the high sea-ward glens, fain to drink deep 
Of earth's old glory from your silent crest, — 
Take the cloud-conquering throne__ 
Of gods, and gaze alone 
Thro' heaven. Darkling we slept who saw his face no more. 

II 

Ah yet, in him hath Lycidas a brother, 

And Adonais will not say him nay. 
And Thyrsis to the breast of one sweet Mother 

Welcomes him, climbing by the self -same way: 
Quietly as a cloud at break of day 
Up the long glens of golden dew he stole 
(And surely Bion called to him afar !) 
The tearful hyacinths, and the greenwood spray 
Clinging to keep him from the sapphire goal, 
Kept of his path no trace! 
Upward the yearning face 
Clomb the ethereal height, calm as the morning star. 

Ill 

Ah yet, incline, dear Sisters, or my song 

That with the Hght wings of the skimming swallow 

Must range the reedy slopes, will work him wrong! 
And with some golden shaft do thou, Apollo, 

Show the pine-shadowed path that none may follow: 



MOUNT IDA 121 

For, as the blue air shuts behind a bird, 

Round him closed Ida's cloudy woods and rills! 
Day-long, night-long, by echoing height and hollow, 
We called him, but our tumult died unheard: 
Down from the scornful sky 
Our faint wing-broken cry 
Fluttered and perished among the many-folded hiUs. 



IV 

Ay, though we clomb each faint-flushed peak of vision, 

Nought but our own sad faces we divined : 
Thy radiant way still laughed us to derision, 
And stiU revengeful Echo proved unkind; 
And oft our faithless hearts half feared to find 
Thy cold corse in some dark mist-drenched ravine 
Where the white foam flashed headlong to the sea: 
How should we find thee, spirits deaf and blind 
Even to the things which we had heard and seen? 
Eyes that could see no more 
The old light on sea and shore, 
What should they hope or fear to find? They found not thee; 



For thou wast ever alien to our skies, ■ 

A wistful stray of radiance on this earth, i 

A changeling with deep memories in thine eyes j 

Mistily gazing thro' our loud-voiced mirth 1 

To some fair land beyond the gates of birth; ! 

Yet as a star thro' clouds, thou still didst shed j 

Through our dark world thy lovelier, rarer glow; I 
Time, like a picture of but little worth, 
Before thy young hand lifelessly outspread, 
At one light stroke from thee 

Gleamed with Eternity; ; 
Thou gav'st the master's touch, and we — we did not know. 



122 MOUNT IDA 

VI 

Not though we gazed from heaven o'er Ilion 
Dreaming on earth below, mistily crowned 
With towering memories, and beyond her shone 

The wine-dark seas Achilles heard resound! 
Only, and after many days, we found 
Dabbled with dew, at border of a wood 
Bedded in hyacinths, open and a-glow 
Thy Homer's Iliad. . . . Dryad tears had drowned 
The rough Greek type and, as with honey or blood, 
One crocus with crushed gold 
Stained the great page that told 
Of gods that sighed their loves on Ida, long ago. 



VII 

See — for a couch to their ambrosial limbs 

Even as their golden load of splendour presses 
The fragrant thyme, a billowing cloud up-swims 

Of springing flowers beneath their deep caresses, 
Hyacinth, lotus, crocus, wildernesses 

Of bloom . . . but clouds of sunlight and of dew 

Dropping rich balm, round the dark pine-woods curled 
That the warm wonder of their in-woven tresses, 
And all the secret blisses that they knew, 
Where beauty kisses truth 
In heaven's deep heart of youth. 
Might stiU be hidden, as thou art, from the heartless world. 



VIII 

Even as we found thy book, below these rocks 
Perchance that strange great eagle's feather lay, 

When GanjTnede, from feeding of his flocks 
On Ida, vanished thro' the morning grey: 

Stranger it seemed, if thou couldst cast away 



MOUNT IDA 123 

Those golden musics as a thing of nought, 
A dream for which no longer thou hadst need! 
Ah, was it here then that the break of day 

Brought thee the substance for the shadow, taught 
Thy soul a swifter road 
To ease it of its load 
And watch this world of shadows as a dream recede? 



IX 

We slept! Darkling we slept! Our busy schemes, 

Our cold mechanic world awhile was still; 
But 0, their eyes are blinded even in dreams 

Who from the heavenher Powers withdraw their wiU: 
Here did the dawn with purer light fulfil 

Thy happier eyes than ours, here didst thou see 
The quivering wonder-light in flower and dew, 
The quickening glory of the haunted hiU, 
The Hamadryad beckoning from the tree. 
The Naiad from the stream; 
While from her long dark dream 
Earth woke, trembling with life, light, beauty, through and 
through. 



And the everlasting miracle of things 

Flowed round thee, and this dark earth opposed no bar. 
And radiant faces from the flowers and springs 

Dawned on thee, whispering, Knowest thou whence we aref 
Faintly thou heardst us calling thee afar 
As Hylas heard, swooning beneath the wave. 
Girdled with glowing arms, while wood and glen 
Echoed his name beneath that rosy star; 

And thy farewell came faint as from the grave 
For very bliss; but we 
Could neither hear nor see; 
And all the hill with Hylas! Hylas! rang again. 



124 MOUNT IDA 

XI 

But there were deeper love-tales for thine ears 
Than mellow-tongued Theocritus could tell: 
Over him like a sea two thousand years 

Had swept. They solemnized his music well! 
Farewell ! What word could answer but farewell, 
From thee, O happy spirit, that couldst steal 
So quietly from this world at break of day? 
What voice of ours could break the silent spell 
Beauty had cast upon thee, or reveal 
The gates of sun and dew 
Which oped and let thee through 
And led thee heavenward by that deep enchanted way? 



XII 

Yet here thou mad'st thy choice: Love, Wisdom, Power, 

As once before young Paris, they stood here! 
Beneath them Ida, like one full-blowTi flower, 

Shed her bloom earthward thro' the radiant air 
Leaving her rounded fruit, their beauty, bare 
To the everlasting dawn; and, in thy palm 
The golden apple of the Hesperian isle 
Which thou must only yield to the Most Fair; 
But not to Juno's great luxurious calm, 
Nor Dian's curved white moon, 
Gav'st thou the sunset's boon. 
Nor to foam-bosomed Aphrodite's rose-lipped smile. 



XIII 

Here didst thou make the eternal choice aright, 
Here, in this hallowed haunt of nymph and faun, 

They stood before thee in that great new light. 
The three great splendours of the immortal dawn, 

With all the cloudy veils of Time withdrawn 



MOUNT IDA 125 

Or only glistening round the firm white snows 
Of their pure beauty like the golden dew 
Brushed from the feathery ferns below the lawn; 
But not to cold Diana's morning rose, 
Nor to great Juno's frown 
Cast thou the apple down, 
And, when the Paphian raised her lustrous eyes anew, 



XIV 

Thou from thy soul didst whisper — in that heaven 

Which yearns beyond us! Lead me up the height! 
How should the golden fruit to one be given 

Till your three splendours in that Sun unite 
Where each in each ye move lilce light in light? 
How should I judge the rapture till I know 

Tlie pain? And like three waves of music there 
They closed thee round, blinding thy blissful sight 
With beauty and, like one roseate orb a-glow, 
They bore thee on their breasts 
Up the sun-smitten crests 
And melted with thee smiling into the Most Fair. 



XV 

Upward and onward, ever as ye went 

The cities of the world nestled beneath 
Closer, as if in love, round Ida, blent 

With alien hills in one great bridal-wreath 
Of dawn-flushed clouds; while, breathing with your breath 
New heavens mixed with your mounting bliss. Deep eyes. 
Beautiful eyes, imbrued with the world's tears 
Dawned on you, beautiful gleams of Love and Death 
Flowed thro' your questioning with divine replies 
From that ineffable height 
Dark with excess of light 
Where the Ever-living dies and the All-loving hears. 



126 MOUNT IDA 

XVI 

For thou hadst seen what tears upon man's face 

Bled from the heart or burned from out the brain, 
And not denied or cursed, but couldst embrace 

Infinite sweetness in the heart of pain, 
And heardst those universal choirs again 
Wherein like waves of one harmonious sea 

All our slight dreams of heaven are singing still, 
And still the throned Olympians swell the strain, 
And, hark, the burden of all — Covie unto Me! 
Sky into deepening sky 
Melts with that one great cry; 
And the lost doves of Ida moan on Siloa's hill. 



XVII 

I gather all the ages in my song 

And send them singing up the heights to thee! 
Chord by seonian chord the stars prolong 

Their passionate echoes to Eternity: 
Earth wakes, and one orchestral symphony 

Sweeps o'er the quivering harp-strings of mankind; 
Grief modulates into heaven, hate drowns in love. 
No strife now but of love in that great sea 

Of songl I dream! I dream! Mine eyes grow blind: 
Chords that I not command 
Escape the fainting hand ; 
Tears fall. Thou canst not hear. Thou'rt still too far above. 



XVIII 

Farewell! What word should answer but farewell 
From thee, O happy spirit, whose clear gaze 

Discerned the path — clear, but unsearchable — 
Where Olivet sweetens, deepens, Ida's praise, 

The path that strikes as thro' a sunlit haze 



THE ELECTRIC TRAM 127 

■flirough Time to that clear reconciling height 
Where our commingling gleams of godhead dwell; 
Strikes thro' the turmoil of our darkling days 
To that great harmony where, like light in light, 
Wisdom and Beauty still 
Haunt the thrice-holy hill, 
And Love, immortal Love . . . what answer but farewell? 



THE ELECTRIC TRAM 
I 

Bluff and burly and splendid 

Thro' roaring traffic-tides, 
By secret lightnings attended 

The land-ship hisses and glides. 
And I sit on its bridge and I watch and I dream 

While the world goes gallantly by, 
With all its crowded houses and its colored shops a-stream 

Under the June-blue sky. 
Heigh, ho! 

Under the June-blue sky. 



II 

There's a loafer at the kerb with a sulphur-coloured pile 

Of "Lights! Lights! Lights!" to sell; 
And a flower-girl there with some lilies and a smile 

By the gilt swing-doors of a drinking hell, 
Where the money is rattling loud and fast, 
And I catch one glimpse as the ship swings past 
Of a woman with a babe at her breast 

Wrapped in a ragged shawl; 
She is drinking away with the rest, 
And the sun shines over it all, 

Heigh, ho! 
The sun shines over it -jH! 



128 SHERWOOD 

III 

And a barrel-organ is playing, 

Somewhere, far away, 
Abide with me, and The world is gone a-maying, 

And What will the policeman say? 
There's a glimpse of the river down an alley by a church, 

And the barges with their tawny-coloured sails. 
And a grim and grimy coal-wharf where the London pigeons 
perch 

And flutter and spread their tails, 
Heigh, ho ! 

Flutter and spread their tails. 

IV 

O, what does it mean, all the pageant and the pity, 

The waste and the wonder and the shame? 
I am riding tow'rds the sunset thro' the vision of a City 

Which WG cloak with the stupor of a name! 
I am riding thro' ten thousand thousand tragedies and terrors. 

Ten million heavens that save and hells that damn ; 
And the lightning draws my car tow'rds the golden evening star; 

And — They call w only "riding on a tram," 
Heigh, ho! 

They call it only "riding on a tram." 



SHERWOOD 
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA 

Robin . / Earl of Huntingdon, known 

as "Robin Hood." 
Little John .... I 
Friar Tuck .... 
Will Scarlet ... Outlaws and followers of 



Reynold Greenleap 
Much, the Miller's Son 
Allan-a-Dale 



'Robin Hood." 



SHERWOOD 129 

Prince John. 

King Richard, Cceur de 
Lion. 

Blondel King Richard's minstrel. 

Oberon King of the Fairies. 

TiTANiA Queen of the Fairies. 

Puck A Fairy. 

The Sheriff of Not- 
tingham. 

FiTzwALTER .... Father of Marian, known as 

"Maid Marian." 

Shadow-of-a-Leaf . . A Fool. 

Arthur Plantagenet . Nephew to Prince John, a 

boy of about ten years of 
age. 

Queen Elinor . . . Mother of Prince John and 

Richard Lion-Heart. 

Marian Fitzwalter . Known as Maid Marian, be- 
trothed to Robin Hood. 

Jenny Maid to Marian. 

Widow Scarlet . . . Mother of Will Scarlet. 

Prioress of Kirklee. 

Fairies, merry men, serfs, peasants, mercenaries, an 
abbot, a baron, a novice, nuns, courtiers, sol- 
diers, retainers, etc. 



ACT I 

Scene I. Night. The borders of the forest. The smouldering 
embers of a Saxon homestead. The Sheriff and his 
men are struggling with a Serf. 



SERF 

No, no, not that! not that! If you should blind me 
God will repay you. Kill me out of hand ! 

[Enter Prince John and several of his retainers.] 



130 SHERWOOD 

JOHN 
Who is this night-jar? 

[The retainers laugh.] 

Surely, master Sheriff, 
You should have cut its tongue out, first. Its cries 
Tingle so hideously across the wood 
They'll wake the King in Palestine. Small wonder 
That Robin Hood evades you. 

SHERIFF 

[To the Serf.] 

Silence, dog, 
Know you not better than to make this clamour 
Before Prince John? 

SERF 

Prince John! It is Prince John! 
For God's love save me, sir! 

JOHN 

Whose thraU is he? 

SHERIFF 

I know not, sir, but he was caught red-handed 
Killing the king's deer. By the forest law 
He should of rights be blinded; for, as you see, 

[He indicates the Serf's right hand.] 
'Tis not his first deer at King Richard's cost. 

JOHN 
'Twill save you trouble if you say at mine. 

SHERIFF 
Ay, sir, I pray your pardon — at your cost! 
His right hand lacks the thumb and arrow-finger, 
And though he vows it was a falling tree 
That crushed them, you may trust your Sheriff, sir, 
It was the law that clipped them when he last 
Hunted your deer. 



SHERWOOD 131 

SERF 

Prince, when the Conqueror came, 
They burned my father's homestead with the rest 
To make the King a broader hunting-ground. 
I have hunted there for food. How could I bear 
To hear my hungry children crying? Prince, 
They'll make good bowmen for your wars, one day. 

JOHN 

He is much too fond of 'Prince': he'll never live 
To see a king. Whose thrall? — his iron collar, 
Look, is the name not on it? 

SHERIFF 

Sir, the name 
Is filed away, and in another hour 
The ring would have been broken. He is one of those 
Green adders oi the moon, night-creeping thieves 
Whom Huntingdon has tempted to the woods. 
These desperate ruffians flee their lawful masters 
And flock around the disaffected Earl 
Like ragged rooks around an elm, by scores! 
And now, i' faith, the sun of Huntingdon 
Is setting fast. They've well nigh beggared him, 
Eaten him out of house and home. They say 
That, when we make him outlaw, we shall find 
Nought to distrain upon, but empty cupboards. 

JOHN 

Did you not serve him once yourself? 

SHERIFF 

Oh, ay, 
He was more prosperous then. But now my cupboards 
Are full, and his are bare. Well, I'd think scorn 
To share a crust with outcast churls and thieves. 
Doffing his dignity, letting them call him 
Robin, or Robin Hood, as if an Earl 
Were just a plain man, which he will be soon, 



132 SHERWOOD 

When we have served our writ of outlawry! 
'Tis said he hopes much from the King's return 
And swears by Lion-Heart; and though King Richard 
Is brother to yourself, 'tis all the more 
Ungracious, sir, to hope he should return, 
And overset your rule. But then — to keep 
Such base communications! Myself would think it 
Unworthy of my sheriffship, much more 
Unworthy a right Earl. 

JOHN 

You talk too much! 
This whippet, here, slinks at his heel, you say. 
Mercy may close her eyes, then. Take him off, 
Blind him or what you will; and let him thank 
His master for it. But wait — perhaps he knows 
Where we may trap this young patrician thief. 
Where is your master? 

SERF 
Where you'll never find him. 

JOHN 

Oh, ho! the dog is faithful! Take him away. 
Get your red business done. I shall require 
Your men to ride with me. 

SHERIFF 

[To his men.] 

Take him out yonder, 
A bow-shot into the wood, so that his clamour 
Do not offend my lord. Delay no time. 
The irons are hot by this. They'll give you light 
Enough to blind him by. 

SERF 

[Crying out and stricggling as he is forced back into the forest] 

No, no, not that! 
God will repay you! Kill me out of hand! 



SHERWOOD 133 

SHERIFF 
[To Prince John.] 
There is a kind of justice in all this. 
The irons being heated in that fire, my lord, 
Which was his hut, aforetime. 

[Some of the men take the glowing irons from the fire and follow 
into the wood.] 

There's no need 
To parley with him, either. The snares are laid 
For Robin Hood. He goes this very night 
To his betrothal feast. 

JOHN 

Betrothal feast! 

SHERIFF 

At old Fitzwalter's castle, sir. 

JOHN 

Ha! ha! 
There will be one more guest there than he thought! 
Ourselves are riding thither. We intended 
My Lady Marian for a happier fate 
Than bride to Robin Hood. Your plans are laid 
To capture him? 

SHERIFF 

[Consequentially.] 

It was our purpose, sir, 
To serve the writ of outlawry upon him 
And capture him as he came forth. 

JOHN 

That's weU, 
Then — ^let him disappear — you understand? 

SHERIFF 
I have your warrant, sir? Death? A great Earl? 



134 SHERWOOD 

JOHN 

Why, first declare him outlawed at his feast! 

'Twill gladden the tremulous heart of old Fitzwalter 

With his prospective son-in-law; and then — 

No man will overmuch concern himself 

Whither an outlaw goes. You understand? 



SHERIFF 
It shall be done, sir. 

JOHN 

But the Lady Marian! 
By heaven, I'll take her. I'll banish old Fitzwalter 
If he prevent my will in this. You'll bring 
How many men to ring the castle round? 

SHERIFF 
A good five score of bowmen. 

JOHN 

Then I'll take her 

This very night as hostage for Fitzwalter, 

Since he consorts with outlaws. These grey rats 

Will gnaw my kingdom's heart out. For 'tis mine, 

This England, now or later. They that hold 

By Richard, as their absent king, would make 

My rule a usurpation. God, am I 

My brother's keeper? 

[There is a cry in the forest from the Serf, who immediately 
afterwards appears at the edge of the glade, shaking 
himself free from his guards. He seizes a weapon 
and rushes at Prince John. One of the retainers runs 
him through and he falls at the Prince's feet.] 

JOHN 

That's a happy answerl 



SHERWOOD 135 

SHERIFF 

[Stooping over the body.] 
He is dead. 

JOHN 

I am sorry. It were better sport 
To send him groping like a hoodman blind 
Through Sherwood, whimpering for his Robin. Come, 
I'll ride with you to this betrothal feast. 
Now for my Lady Marian! 

[Exeunt all. A pause. The scene darkens. Shadowy figures creep 
out from the thickets, of old men, women and children.] 

FIRST OLD MAN 

[Stretching his arms up to Heaven.] 

God, am I 
My brother's keeper? Witness, God in heaven, 
He said it and not we — Cain's word, he said it! 

FIRST WOMAN 

[Kneeling by the body.] 

Father, Father, and the blood of Abel 
Cries to thee! 

A BLIND MAN 

Is there any light here still? 

1 feel a hot breath on my face. The dark 
Is better for us all. I am sometimes glad 
They blinded me those many years ago. 
Princes are princes; and God made the world 
For one or two it seems. Well, I am glad 

I cannot see His world. 

FIRST WOMAN 

[StiU by the body and whispering to the others.] 

Keep him away. 
'Tis as we thought. The dead man is his son. 
Keep him away, poor soul. He need not know. 

[Some of the men carry the body among the thickets.] 



136 SHERWOOD 

A CHILD 

Mother, I'm hungry, I'm hungry! 

FIRST OLD MAN 

There's no food 
For any of us to-night. The snares are empty, 
And I can try no more. 

THE BLIND MAN 

Wait till my son 
Comes back. He's a rare hunter is my boy. 
You need not fret, poor little one. My son 
Is much too quick and clever for the Sheriff. 
He'll bring you something good. Why, ha! ha! ha! 
Friends, I've a thought — the Sheriff's lit the fire 
Ready for us to roast our meat. Come, come, 
Let us be merry while we may! My boy 
Will soon come back with food for the old folks. 
The fire burns brightly, eh? 

SECOND OLD MAN 

The fire that feeds 
On hope and eats our hearts away. They've burnt 
Everything, everything! 

THE BLIND MAN 

Ah, princes are princes! 
But when the King comes home from the Crusade, 
We shall have better times. 

FIRST OLD MAN 

Ay, when the King 
Comes home from the Crusade. 

CHILD 

Mother, I'm hungry. 



SHERWOOD 137 

SECOND WOMAN 

Oh, but if I could only find a crust 

Left by the dogs. Masters, the child will starve. 

We must have food. 

THE BLIND MAN 

I tell you when my boy 
Comes back, we shall have plenty! 



FIRST WOMAN 

THE BLIND MAN 
What dost thou mean? 



God pity thee? 



SECOND WOMAN 

Masters, the child will starve. 



FIRST OLD MAN 
Hist, who comes here — a forester? 

THE BLIND MAN 

Slip back into the dark. 



We'd best 



FIRST WOMAN 

[Excitedly.] 

No, stay! All's well. 
There's Shadow-of-a-Leaf, good Lady Marian's fool 
Beside him! 

THE BLIND MAN 

Ah, they say there's fairy blood 
In Shadow-of-a-Leaf. But I've no hopes of more 
From him, than wild bees' honey-bags. 

[Enter Little John, a giant figure , leading a donkey, laden 
with a sack. On the other side, Shadow-of-a-Leaf 
trips, a slender figure in green trunk-hose and doublet. 
He is tickling the donkey's ears with a long fern.] 



138 SHERWOOD 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Gee! Whoa! 
Neddy, my boy, have you forgot the Weaver, 
And how Titania tickled your long ears? 
Ha! ha! Don't ferns remind you? 

LITTLE JOHN 

Friends, my master 
Hath sent me to you, fearing ye might hunger. 

FIRST OLD MAN 
Thy master? 

LITTLE JOHN 
Robin Hood. 

SECOND WOMAN 
[Falling on her knees.] 

God bless his name. 
God bless the kindly name of Robin Hood. 

LITTLE JOHN 

[Giving them food.] 
'Tis well nigh all that's left him; and to-night 
He goes to his betrothal feast. 

[All the outcasts except the first old man exeunt.] 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
[Pointing to the donkeij.] 

Now look, 
There's nothing but that shadow of a cross 
On his grey back to tell you of the palms 
That once were strewn before my Lord, the King. 
Won't ferns, won't branching ferns, do just as well? 
There's only a dream to ride my donkey now! 
But, Neddy, I'll lead you home and cry — Hosanna! 
We'll thread the glad Gate Beautiful again. 
Though now there's only a Fool to hold your bridle 
And only moonlit ferns to strew your path, 
And the great King is fighting for a grave 
In lands beyond the sea. Come, Neddy, come, 
Hosanna! 
[Exit Shadow-of-a-Leaf with the donkey. He strews ferns 
before it as he goes.] 



SHERWOOD 139 

FIRST OLD MAN 

'Tis a strange creature, master! Thinkest 
There's fairy blood in him? 

LITTLE JOHN 

'Twas he that brought 
Word of your plight to Robin Hood. He flits 
Like Moonshine thro' the forest. He'll be home 
Before I know it. I must be hastening back. 
This makes a sad betrothal night. 

FIRST OLD MAN 

That minds me, 
Couched in the thicket yonder, we overheard 
The Sheriff tell Prince John . . . 

LITTLE JOHN 

Prince John I 

FIRST OLD MAN 

You'd best 
Warn Robin Hood, They're laying a trap for him. 
Ay! Now I mind me of it! I heard 'em say 
They'd take him at the castle. 

LITTLE JOHN 

To-night? 

FIRST OLD MAN 

To-night! ■ 
Fly, lad, for God's dear love. Warn Robin Hood! 
Fly like the wind, or you'll be there too late. 
And yet you'd best be careful. There's five score 
In ambush round the castle. 

LITTLE JOHN 

I'll be there 
An if I have to break five hundred heads! 
[He rushes off thro' the forest. The old man goes into the thicket 
after the others. The scene darkens. A soft light, as 



140 SHERWOOD 

of the moon, appears between the ferns to the right of the 
glade, showing Oberon and Titania.] 

TITANIA 

Yet one night more the gates of fairyland 
Are opened by a mortal's kindly deed. 

OBERON 

Last night the gates were shut, and I heard weeping! 

Men, women, children, beat upon the gates 

That guard our happy world. They could not sleep. 

Titania, must not that be terrible, 

When mortals cannot sleep? 

TITANIA 

Yet one night more 
Dear Robin Hood has opened the gates wide 
And their poor weary souls can enter in. 

OBERON 

Yet one night more we woodland elves may steal 
Out thro' the gates, I fear the time will come 
When they must close for ever; and we no more 
Shall hold our Sherwood revels. 

TITANIA 

Only love 
And love's kind sacrifice can open them. 
For when a mortal hurts himself to help 
Another, then he thrusts the gates wide open 
Between his world and ours. 

OBERON 

Ay, but that's rare, 
That kind of love, Titania, for the gates 
Are almost alwavs closed. 



SHERWOOD 141 

TITANIA 

Yet one night more! 

Hark, how the fairy host begins to sing 

Within the gates. Wait here and we shall see 

What weary souls by grace of Robin Hood 

This night shall enter Dreamland. See, they come! 

[The soft light deepens in the holloio among the ferns and the ivory 
gates of Dreamland are seen swinging ope7i. Thefuiry 
host is heard, singing to invite the mortals to enter.] 

[Song of the fairies.] 
The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The 
Forest shall conquer! 

Your world is growing old; 
But a Princess sleeps in the greenwood, 
Whose hair is brighter than gold. 

The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The 
Fofest shall conquer! 

O hearts that bleed and burn, 
Her lips are redder than roses, 
Who sleeps in the faery fern. 

The Forest sh^U conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The 
Forest shall conquer! 

By the Beauty that wakes anew 
Milk-white with the fragrant hawthorn 
In the drip of the dawn-red dew. 

The Forest shall conquer! The Forest shall conquer! The 
Forest shall conquer! 

O hearts that are weary of pain, 
Come back to your home in Faerie 
And wait till she wakes again. 

[The victims of the forest-laws steal out of the thicket once more — 
dark, distorted, lame, blind, serfs with iron collars round 
their neoks, old men, women and children; and as the 
fairy song breaks into chorus they pass in procession 
thro' thb beautiful gates. The gates slowly close. The 
fairy song is heard as dying away in the distance.] 



142 SHERWOOD 

TITANIA 

[Coming out into the glade and holding up her hands to the eve- 

ning star beyond the tree-tops.] 
Shine, shine, dear star of Love, yet one night more. 



Scene II. A banqueting hall in Fitzwalter's castle. The 
guests are assembling for the betrothal feast of Robin and 
Marian. Some of Robin Hood's men, clad in Lincoln 
green, are just arriving at the doors. Shadow-of-a- 
Leaf runs forivard to greet them. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Come in, my scraps of Lincoln green; come in, 

My slips of greenwood. You're much wanted here! 

Head, heart and eyes, we are all pent up in walls 

Of stone — nothing but walls on every side — 

And not a rose to break them — big blind walls, 

Neat smooth stone walls! Come in, my ragged robins; 

Come in, my jolly minions of the moon. 

My straggling hazel-boughs! Hey, bully friar. 

Come in, my knotted oak! Ho, little Much, 

Come in, my sweet green linnet. Come, my cushats, 

Larks, yellow-hammers, fern-owls. Oh, come in, 

Come in, my Dian's foresters, and drown us 

With may, with blossoming may! 

FITZWALTER 

Out, Shadow-of-a-Leaf! 
Welcome, welcome, good friends of Huntingdon, 
Or Robin Hood, by whatsoever name 
You best may love him. 

CRIES 

Robin! Robin! Robin! 

[Enter Robin Hood.] 



SHERWOOD 143 

FITZWALTER 

Robin, so be it! Myself I am right glad 
To call him at this bright betrothal feast 
My son. 

[Lays a hand on Robin's shoulder.] 

Yet, though I would not cast a cloud 
Across our happy gathering, you'll forgive 
An old man and a father if he sees 
All your glad faces thro' a summer mist 
Of sadness. 

ROBIN 

Sadness? Yes, I understand. 

FITZWAI.TER 

No, Robin, no, you cannot understand. 

ROBIN 



Where's Marian? 



FITZWALTER 

Ay, that's all you think of, boy. 
But I must say a word to all of you 
Before she comes. 

ROBIN 

Why — what? 

FITZWALTER 



No need to look 



So startled; but it is no secret here; 
For many of you are sharers of his wild 
Adventures. Now I hoped an end had come 
To these, until another rumour reached me. 
This very day, of yet another prank. 
You know, you know, how perilous a road 
My Marian must ride if Huntingdon 
Tramples the forest-laws beneath his heel 
And, in the thin disguise of Robin Hood, 



144 SHERWOOD 

Succours the Saxon outlaws, makes his house 
A refuge for them, lavishes his wealth 
To feed their sick and needy. 

[The Sheeiff and two of his men appear in the great doorway 
out of sight of the guests.] 

SHERIFF 
[Whispering.] 

Not yet! keep back! 
One of you go — see that the guards are set! 
He must not slip us. 

FITZWALTER 

Oh, I know his heart 
Is gold, but this is not an age of gold; 
And those who have must keep, or lose the power 
Even to help themselves. No — he must doff 
His green disguise of Robin Hood for ever, 
And wear his natural coat of Huntingdon. 

ROBIN 

Ah, which is the disguise? Day after day 

We rise and put our social armour on, 

A different mask for every friend; but steel 

Always to case our hearts. We are all so wrapped, 

So swathed, so muffled in habitual thought 

That now I swear we do not know our souls 

Or bodies from their winding-sheets; but Custom, 

Custom, the great god Custom, all day long 

Shovels the dirt upon us where we lie 

Buried alive and dreaming that we stand 

Upright and royal. Sir, I have great doubts 

About this world, doubts if we have the right 

To sit down here for this betrothal feast 

And gorge ourselves with plenty, when we know 

That for the scraps and crumbs which we let fall 

And never miss, children would kiss our hands 

And women weep in gratitude. Suppose 

A man fell wounded at your gates, you'd not 



SHERWOOD 145 

Pass on and smile and leave him there to die. 

And can a few short miles of distance blind you? 

Miles, nay, a furlong is enough to close 

The gates of mercy. Must we thrust our hands 

Into the wounds before we can believe? 

Oh, is our sight so thick and gross? We came, 

We saw, we conquered with the Conqueror. 

We gave ourselves broad lands; and when our king 

Desired a wider hunting ground we set 

Hundreds of Saxon homes a-blaze and tossed 

Women and children back into the fire 

If they but wrung their hands against our will. 

And so we made our forest, and its leaves 

Were pitiful, more pitiful than man. 

They gave our homeless victims the same refuge 

And happy hiding place they give the birds 

And foxes. Then we made our forest-laws, 

And he that dared to hunt, even for food, 

Even on the ground where we had burned his hut, 

The ground we had drenched with his own kindred's blood, 

Poor foolish churl, why, we put out his eyes 

With red-hot irons, cut off both his hands, 

Torture him with such horrors that . . . Christ Godj 

How can I help but fight against it all? 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
Ah, gossips, if the Conqueror had but burned 
Everything with four walls, hut, castle, palace, 
And turned the whole wide world into a forest. 
Drenched us with may, we might be happy then! 
With sweet blue wood-smoke curling thro' the boughs, 
And just a pigeon's flap to break the silence. 
And ferns, of course, there's much to make men happy. 
Well, well, the forest conquers at the last! 
I saw a thistle in the castle courtyard, 
A purple thistle breaking thro' the pavement. 
Yesterday; and it's wonderful how soon 
Some creepers pick these old grey walls to pieces. 
These nunneries and these monasteries now. 
They don't spring up like flowers, so I suppose 
Old mother Nature wins the race at last. 

10 



146 SHERWOOD 

FITZWALTER 
Robin, my heart is with you, but I know 
A hundred ages will not change this earth. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

[With a candle in his hand.] 
Gossip, suppose the sun goes out like this. 
Pouf! 

[Blows it out.] 

Stranger things have happened. 

FITZWALTER 

Silence, fool! . . 
So, if you share your wealth with all the world 
Earth will be none the better, and my poor girl 
Will suffer for it. Where you got the gold 
You have already lavished on the poor 
Heaven knows. 

FRIAR TUCK 

Oh, by the mass and the sweet moon 
Of Sherwood, so do I? That's none so hard 
A riddle! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Ah, Friar Tuck, v/e know, we know! 
Under the hawthorn bough, and at the foot 
Of rainbows, that's where fairies hide their gold. 
Cut me a silver penny out of the moon 
Next time you're there. 

[Whispers.] 

Now tell me, have you brought 
Your quarter-staff? 

FRIAR TUCK 
[Whispering.] 
Hush! hush. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Oh, mum's the word! 
I see it! 



SHERWOOD 147 

FITZWALTER 
Believe me, Robin, there's one way 
And only one — patience! When Lion-Heart 
Comes home from the Crusade, he will not brook 
This blot upon our chivalry. Prince John 
Is dangerous to a heart like yours. Beware 
Of rousing him. Meanwhile, your troth holds good; 
But, till the King comes home from the Crusade 
You must not claim your bride. ^ 

ROBIN 

So be it, then. . . . 
When the great King comes home from the Crusade! . . . 

FITZWALTER 
Meanwhile for Marian's sake and mine, I pray 
Do nothing rash. 

[Enter Widow Scarlet. She goes up to Robin Hood.] 

WIDOW SCARLET 

Are you that Robin Hood 
They call the poor man's friend? 

ROBIN 

I am. 

WIDOW SCARLET 

They told me, 
They told me I should find you here. They told me! 

ROBIN 
Come, mother, what's the trouble? 

WIDOW SCARLET 

Sir, my son 
Will Scarlet lies in gaol at Nottingham 
For killing deer in Sherwood! Sir, they'll hang him. 
He only wanted food for him and me! 
They'll kill him, I tell you, they'll kill him. I can't help 
Crying it out. He's all I have, all! Save him! 
I'll pray for you, I'll . . . 



148 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

[To FiTzwALTER, OS he Toises Widow Scarlet gently to her feet. 

Sir, has not the King 
Come home from the Crusade? Does not your heart 
Fling open wide its gates to welcome him? 

FITZWALTER 

Robin, you set me riddles. Follow your conscience. 
Do what seems best. 

ROBIN 

I hope there is a way, 
Mother. I knew Will Scarlet. Better heart 
There never beat beneath a leather jerkin. 
He loved the forest and the forest loves him; 
And if the lads that wear the forest's livery 
Of living green should happen to break out 
And save Will Scarlet (as on my soul I swear, 
Mother, they shall !) why, that's a matter none 
Shall answer for to prince, or king, or God, 
But you and Robin Hood; and if the judgment 
Strike harder upon us than the heavenly smile 
Of sunshine thro' the greenwood, may it fall 
Upon my head alone. 

[Enter the Sheriff, with two of his men.] 



SHERIFF 

[Reads.] 

In the King's name! 
Thou, Earl of Huntingdon, by virtue of this writ art hereby 
attainted and deprived of thine earldom, thy lands and all thy 
goods and chattels whatsoever and whereas thou hast at divers 
times trespassed against the officers of the king by force of 
arms, thou art hereby outlawed and banished the realm. 



SHERWOOD 149 

ROBIN 

That's well. 

[He laughs.] 
It puts an end to the great question 
Of how I shall dispose my wealth, Fitzwalter. 
But " banished "? — No! that is beyond their power 
While I have power to breathe, unless they banish 
The kind old oaks of Sherwood. They may call it 
'"Outlawed," perhaps. 

FITZWALTER 

Who let the villain in 
Thro' doors of mine? 

CRIES 

Out with him! Out with him! 
[The guests draiv swords and the Sheriff retreats thro' the door- 
way with his men.] 

ROBIN 

Stop! 
Put up your swords! He had his work to do. 

[Widow Scarlet falls sobbing at his feet.] 

WIDOW SCARLET 

master, master, who will save my son, 
My son? 

ROBIN 
[Raising her.] 

Why, mother, this is but a dream, 
This poor fantastic strutting show of law! 
And you shall wake with us in Sherwood Forest 
And find Will Scarlet in your arms again. 
Come, cheerly, cheerly, we shall overcome 
AU this. Hark! 

[A bugle sounds in the distance. There is a scuffle in the doorway 
and Little John bursts in with his head bleeding.] 



150 SHERWOOD 

LITTLE JOHN 

Master, master, come away! 
They are setting a trap for thee, drawing their lines 
All round the castle. 

ROBIN 

How now, Little John, 
They have wounded thee! Art hurt? 

LITTLE JOHN 

No, no, that's nothing 
Only a bloody cockscomb. Come, be swift, 
Or, if thou wert a fox, thou'dst never slip 
Between 'em. Ah, hear that? 

[Another bugle sounds from another direction.] 

That's number two. 
Two sides cut off already. When the third 
Sounds — they will have thee, sure as eggs is eggs. 
Prince John is there, Fitzwalter cannot save 'ee. 
They'll burn the castle down. 

ROBIN 

Prince John is there? 

LITTLE JOHN 

Ay, and my lord Fitzwalter had best look 
WeU to my mistress Marian, if these ears 
Heard right as I came creeping thro' their lines. 
Look well to her, my lord, look well to her. 
Come, master, come, for God's sake, come away. 

FITZWALTER 

Robin, this is thy rashness. I warned thee, boy! 
Prince John! Nay, that's too perilous a jest 
For even a prince to play with me. Come, Robin, 
You must away and quickly. 



SHERWOOD 151 

ROBIN 

Let me have 
One word with Marian. 

LITTLE JOHN 

It would be the last 
On earth. Come, if you ever wish to see 
Her face again. 

FITZWALTER 

Come, Robin, are you mad? 
You'll bring us all to ruin! 

[He opens a little door in the wall.] 

The secret passage. 
This brings you out by Much the Miller's wheel, 
Thro' an otter's burrow in the river bank. 
Come, quick, or you'll destroy us! Take this Ian thorn. 
If you're in danger, slip into the stream 
And let it carry you down into the heart 
Of Sherwood. Come now, quicldy, you must go! 

ROBIN 

The old cave, lads, in Sherwood, you know where 
To find me. Friar Tuck, bring Widow Scarlet 
Thither to-morrow, with a word or two 
From Lady Marian! 

FITZWALTER 

Quickly, quickly, go. 
[He pushes Robin and Little John into the opening and shuts 

the door. A pause.] 
Oh, I shall pay for this, this cursed folly! 
Henceforth I swear I wash my hands of him! 
[Enter Marian, from a door on the right above the banqueting 
hall. She pauses, pale and frightened, on the broad 
steps leading down.] 

MARIAN 
Father, where 's Robin? 



152 SHERWOOD 



Until I called you. 



FITZWALTER 

Child, I bade you stay 



MARIAN 
_: Something frightened me! 

Father, where's Robin? Where's Robin? 

FITZWALTER 

Hush, Marian, hark! 
[All stand listening.] 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
[Stealing to the foot of the stairs and whispering to Lady Marian.] 
Lady, they're all so silent now. I'll tell you 
I had a dream last night — there was a man 
That bled to death, because of four grey walls 
And a black-hooded nun. 

FITZWALTER 

[Angrihj.] 

Hist, Shadow-of-a-Leaf ! 
[The third bugle sounds. There is a clamour at the doors. 
Enter Prince John and his retainers.] 

JOHN 

[Mockingly.] 
Now this is fortunate! I come in time 
To see — Oh, what a picture! Lady Marian, 
Forgive me — coming suddenly out of the dark 
And seeing you there, robed in that dazzling white 
Above these verdant gentlemen, I feel 
Like one that greets the gracious evening star 
Thro' a gap in a great wood. 

Is aught amiss? 
Why are you all so silent? Ah, my good, 
My brave Fitzwalter, I most fervently 
Trust I am not inopportune. 



SHERWOOD 153 

FITZWALTER 

My lord, 
I am glad that you can jest. I am sadly grieved 
And sorely disappointed in that youth 
Who has incurred your own displeasure. 



JOHN 
Your future son-in-law? 

FITZWALTER 



Ah? 



Never on earth! 



He is outlawed — 



MARIAN 
Outlawed! 

FITZWALTER 

And I wash my hands 
Of Huntingdon. His shadow shall not darken 
My doors again! 

JOHN 

That's vehement! Ha! ha! 
And what does Lady Marian say? 



My father 



MARIAN 

Speaks hastily. I am not so unworthy. 

FITZWALTER 
Unworthy? 

MARIAN 

Yes, unworthy as to desert him 
Because he is in trouble — the bravest man 
In England since the days of Hereward. 
You know why he is outlawed! 



154 SHERWOOD 

FITZWALTER 

[To Prince John.] 

Sir, she speaks 
As the spoilt child of her old father's dotage. 
Give her no heed. She shall not meet with him 
On earth again, and till she promise this, 
She'll sun herself within the castle garden 
And never cross the draw-bridge. 



Then I'll swim 



MARIAN 

The moat! 

FRIAR TUCK 

Ha! ha! well spoken. 

MARIAN 

Oh, you forget. 
Father, you quite forget there is a King; 
And, when the King comes home from the Crusade, 
Will you forget Prince John and change once more? 
[Murmurs of assent from the Foresters.] 

JOHN 

Enough of this. 
Though I be prince, I am vice-gerent too! 
Fitzwalter, I would have some private talk 
With you and Lady Marian. Bid your guests 
Remove a little — 

FITZWALTER 

I'll lead them all ■within f 
And let them make what che'er they ma3^ Come, friends:. 

[He leads them up the stairs to the inner room.] 
My lord, I shall return immediately! 

[Exeunt Fitzwalter and the guests.] 

JOHN 

Marian! 



My lord 



SHERWOOD 155 

MARIAN 



JOHN 

[Drawing close to her.] 

I have come to urge a plea 
On your behalf as well as on my own! 
Listen, you may not know it — I must tell you. 
I have watched your beauty growing like a flower, 
With — why should I not say it — worship; yes, 
Marian, I will not hide it. 

MARIAN 

Sir, you are mad! 
Sir, and your bride, your bride, not three months wedded! 
You cannot mean . . . 

JOHN 

Listen to me! Ah, Marian, 
You'd be more merciful if you knew all! 
D'you think that princes wed to please themselves? 

MARIAN 

Sir, English maidens do; and I am plighted 
Not to a prince, but to an outlawed man. 

JOHN 

Listen to me! One word! Marian, one word! 
I never meant you harm! Indeed, what harm 
Could come of this? Is not your father poor? 
I'd make him rich! Is not your lover outlawed? 
I'd save him from the certain death that waits him. 
You say the forest-laws afflict your soul 
And his — you say you'd die for their repeal ! 
Well — I'll repeal them. All the churls in England 
Shall bless your name and mix it in their prayers 
With heaven itself. 



156 SHERWOOD 

MARIAN 
The price? 

JOHN 

You call it that? 
To let me lay the world before your feet, 
To let me take this little hand in mine. 
Why should I hide my love from you? 

MARIAN 

No more, 
I'll hear no more! You are a prince, you say? 

JOHN 

One word — suppose it some small sacrifice, 

To save those churls for whom you say your heart 

Bleeds ; yet you ■wall not lift your little finger 

To save them! And what hinders you? — A breath, 

A dream, a golden rule! Can you not break it 

For a much greater end? 

MARIAN 

I'd die to save them. 

JOHN 
Then live to save them. 

MARIAN 

No, you will not let me; 
D'you think that bartering my soul will help 
To save another? If there's no way but this. 
Then through my lips those suffering hundreds cry. 
We choose the suffering. All that is good in them, 
All you have left, all you have not destroyed, 
Cries out against you : and I'll go to them. 
Suffer and toil and love and die with them 
Rather than touch your hand. You over-rate 
Your power to hurt our souls. You are mistaken! 
There is a golden rule! 



SHERWOOD 157 

JOHN 

And with such lips 
You take to preaching! I was a fool to worry 
Your soul with reason. With hair like yours — it's hopeless I 
But Marian — you shall hear me. 

[He catches her in his arms.] 

Yes, by God, 
Marian, you shall! I love you. 

MARIAN 
[Struggling.] 

You should not live! 

JOHN 

One kiss, then! Devil take it. 

[Enter Fitzwalter above.] 

MARIAN 

[Wresting herself free.] 

You should not live I 
Were I a man and not a helpless girl 
You should not live! 

JOHN 

Come, now, that's very wicked. 
See how these murderous words affright your father. 
My good Fitzwalter, there's no need to look 
So ghastly. For your sake and hers and mine 
I have been trying to make your girl forget 
The name of Huntingdon. A few short months 
At our gay court would blot his memory out! 
I promise her a life of dazzling pleasures. 
And, in return she flies at me — a tigress — 
Clamouring for my blood! Try to persuade her! 

FITZWALTER 

My lord, you are very good. She must decide 
Herself. 



158 SHERWOOD 

JOHN 

[Angrily.] 

I'll not be trifled with! I hold 
The hand of friendship out and you evade it. 
The moment I am gone, back comes your outlaw. 
You say you have no power with your own child! 
Well, then I'll take her back this very night; 
Back to the court with me. How do I know 
What treasons you are hatching here? I'll take her 
As hostage for yourself. 

FITZWALTER 

My lord, you jest! 
I have sworn to you. 

JOHN 

No more! If you be loyal, 
What cause have you to fear? 

FITZWALTER 

My lord, I'll give 
A hundred other pledges; but not this. 

JOHN 
By heaven, will you dictate your terms to me? 
I say that she shall come back to the court 
This very night! Ho, there, my men. 

[Enter John's retainers.] 

Escort 
This lady back with us. 

FITZWALTER 
Back there, keep back. Prince or no prince, 
I say she shall not go! 

[He draws his sword.] 

I'd rather see her 
Begging in rags with outlawed Huntingdon 
Than that one finger of yours should soil her glove. 



SHERWOOD 159 

JOHN 

So here's an end of fawning, here's the truth, 
My old white-bearded hypocrite. Come, take her. 
Waste no more time. Let not the old fool daunt you 
With that great skewer. 

FITZWALTER 

[As John's men advance.] 

By God, since you will have it, 
Since you will drive me to my last resort, 
Break down my walls, and hound me to the forest, 
This is the truth! Out of my gates! Ho, help! 
A Robin Hood! A Robin Hood! 

[There is a clamour from the upper room. The doors are filing 
open and the Foresters appear at the head of the steps.] 

FRIAR TUCK 

[Coming down into the hall and brandishing his quarter-staff.] 

A Robin? 
Who calls on Robin Hood? His men are here 
To answer. 

FITZWALTER 
Drive these villains out of my gates. 

FRIAR TUCK 

[To Prince John.] 
Sir, I perceive you are a man of wisdom. 
So let me counsel you. There's not a lad 
Up yonder, but at four-score yards can shoot 
A swallow on the wing. They have drunken deep. 
I cannot answer but their hands might loose 
Their shafts before they know it. Now shall I give 
The word? Ready, my lads! 

[The Foresters make ready to shoot. John hesitates for a 
moment. 



160 SHERWOOD 

JOHN 

My Lady Marian, 
One word, and then I'll take my leave of you! 

[She pays no heed.] 
Farewell, then! I have five-score men at hand! 
And they shall be but lightning to the hell 
Of my revenge, Fitzwalter. I will not leave 
One stone upon another. From this night's work 
Shall God Himself not save you. 

[Exeunt John and his men.] 

FRIAR TUCK 
[As they go out.] 

My Lord Fitzwalter! 
I have confessed him! Shall I bid 'em shoot? 
'Twill save a world of trouble. 

FITZWALTER 

No; or the King 
Himself will come against me. Follow them out, 
Drive them out of my gates, then raise the drawbridge 
And let none cross. Oh, I foresaw, foretold! 
Robin has wrecked us all! 

[Exeunt the Foresters and Fitzwalter. Shadow-of-a-Leaf 
remains alone with Marian.] 



MARIAN 

[She flings herself down on a couch and buries her head in her 
arTus.] 

Robin, Robin, 
I cannot lose you now! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

[Sitting at her feet. The lights grow dim.] 

Ah, well, the prince 
Promised to break the walls down. Don't you think 
These villains are a sort of ploughshare, lady, 
And where they plough, who knows what wheat may spring! 



SHERWOOD 161 

The lights are burning low and very low; 
So, Lady Marian, let me tell my dream. 
There was a forester that bled to death 
Because of four grey waUs and a black nun 
Whose face I could not see — but, oh, beware! 
Though I am but your fool, your Shadow-of-a-Leaf, 
Dancing before the wild winds of the future, 
I feel them thrilling through my tattered wits 
Long ere your wisdom feels them. My poor brain 
Is like a harp hung in a willow-tree 
Swept by the winds of fate. I am but a fool, 
But oh, beware of that black-hooded nun. 



MARIAN 
This is no time for jesting, Shadow-of-a-Leaf. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

The lights are burning low. Do you not feel 
A cold breath on your face? 

MARIAN 

Fling back that shutterl 
Look out and tell me what is happening. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

[Flinging back the shutter.] 

Look, 
Look, gossip, how the moon comes dancing in. 
Ah, they have driven Prince John across the drawbridge. 
They are raising it, now! 

[There are cries in the distance, then a heavy sound of chains 
clanking and silence. Shadow-of-a-Leaf turns from 
the window and stands in the stream of moonlight, 
pointing to the door on the left.] 

Look! Look! 
11 



162 SHERWOOD 

MARIAN 

[Starting up with a cry of fear.] 

Ah! 
[The tall figure of a nun glides into the moonlit hall and throw- 
ing back her hood reveals the face of Queen Elinor.] 

ELINOR 

Lady Marion, 
Tell me quickly-j where is Huntingdon hiding? 

MARIAN 
The Queen! 

ELINOR 

Yes! Yes! I donned this uncouth garb 
To pass through your besiegers. If Prince John 
Discover it, all is lost. Come, tell me quickly, 
Where is Robin? 

MARIAN 
Escaped, I hope. 



ELINOR 
MARIAN 



Not here? 



No! 



ELINOR 

Come, dear Lady Marian, do not doubt me. 
I am here to save you both. 

MARIAN 
He is not here. 

ELINOR 

Ah, but you know where I may find him, Marian. 
All will be lost if you delay to tell me 
Where I may speak with him. He is in peril. 
By dawn Prince John will have five hundred men 



SHERWOOD 163 

Beleaguering the castle. You are all ruined 
Unless you trust me! Armies will scour the woods 
To hunt him down. Even now he may be wounded, 
Helpless to save himself. 

MARIAN 

Wounded! 

ELINOR 

Dear child, 
Take me to him. Here, on this holy cross, 
My mother's dying gift, I swear to you 
I wish to save him. 

MARIAN 

Oh, but how? 

ELINOR 

Trust me! 

MARIAN 
Wounded! He may be wounded! Oh, if I could, 
I'd go to him! I am helpless, prisoned here. 
My father . . . 

ELINOR 

I alone can save your father. 
Give me your word that if I can persuade him, 
You'll lead me to your lover's hiding place. 
And let me speak with him. 

[Enter Fitzwalter.] 

Ah, my Lord Fitzwalter! 

FITZWALTER 

The queen! madam, madam, I am driven 
Beyond myself. This girl, this foolish girl 
Has brought us all to ruin. This Huntingdon, 
As I foresaw, foresaw, foretold, foretold, 
Has dragged me down with him. 



164 SHERWOOD 

ELINOR 

I am on your side, 
If you will hear me; and you yet may gain 
A son in Robin Hood. 

FITZWALTER 

Madam, I swear 
I have done with him. I pray you do not jest; 
But if you'll use your power to save my lands .... 
I was provoked! .... 
Prince John required this child here — 

ELINOR 

Oh, I know! 
But you'll forgive him that! I do not wonder 
That loveliness like hers — 

FITZWALTER 

Ay, but you'll pardon 
A father's natural anger. Madam, I swear 
I was indeed provoked. But you'll assure him 
I've washed my hands of Huntingdon. 

MARIAN 

And yet 
His men are, even now, guarding your walls! 
Father, you cannot, you shall not — 

FITZWALTER 

Oh, be silent! 
Who wrapt me in this tangle? Are you bent 
On driving me out in my old age to seek 
Shelter in caves and woods? 

ELINOR 

My good Fitzwalter, 
It has not come to that! If you will trust me 
All will be well ; but I must speak a word 
With Robin Hood. 



SHERWOOD 165 

FITZW ALTER 
You! 

ELINOR 

Oh, I have a reason. 
Your daughter knows his hiding place. 



FITZWALTER 



She knows! 



ELINOR 

Oh, trust them both for that. I am risking much! 
To-morrow she shall guide me there. This bird 
Being flown, trust me to make your peace with John. 

FITZWALTER 

But— Marian! 

ELINOR 

She'll be safer far with Robin, 
Than loitering here until your roof-tree burns. 
I think you know it. Fitzwalter, I can save you, 
I swear it on this cross. 

FITZWALTER 

But — Marian! Marian! 

ELINOR 

Your castle wrapt in flame! . . . 

There's nought to fear, 
If she could — Marian, once, at a court masque, 
You wore a page's dress of Lincoln green, 
And a green hood that muffled half your face, 
I could have sworn 'twas Robin come again — 
He was my page, you know — 
Wear it to-morrow — go, child, bid your maid 
Make ready — we'll set out betimes. 



166 SHERWOOD 

MARIAN 

[Going up to her father.] 

I'll go, 
If you will let me, father. He may be wounded! 
Father, forgive me. Let me go to him. 

ELINOR 

Go, child, first do my bidding. He'll consent 
When you return. 

[Exit Marian.] 

My dear good friend Fitzwalter, 
Trust me, I have some power with Huntingdon. 
All shall be as you wish. I'll let her guide me, 
But — as for her — she shall not even see him 
Unless you wish. Trust me to wind them all 
Around my little finger. 

FITZWALTER 

It is dark here. 
Let us within. Madam, I think you are right. 
And you'll persuade Prince John? 



I swear by this. 



ELINOR 

[As they go tip the steps.] 

This holy cross, my mother's dying gift! 

FITZWALTER 
It's very sure he'd burn the castle down. 

[Exeunt.] 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

[Coming out into the moonlight and staring up after them.] 
The nun! The nun! They'll whip me if I speak. 
For I am only Shadow-of-a Leaf, the Fool. 

[Curtain.] 



SHERWOOD 167 

ACT II 

Scene I. Sherwood Forest: An o^pen glade, showing on the 
right the mouth of the outlaw's cave. It is about 
sunset. The giant figure of Little John comes out 
of the cave, singing. 

LITTLE JOHN 

[Sings.] 
When Spring comes back to England 

And crowns her brows with may, 
Round the merry moonlit world 
She goes the greenwood way. 
[He stops and calls in stentorian tones.] 
Much! Much! Much! Where has he vanished now, 
Where has that monstrous giant the miller's son 
Hidden himself? 
[Enter Much, a dwarf-like figure, carrying a large bundle of 



ferns.] 



MUCH 



Hush, hush, child, here I am! 
And here's our fairy feather-beds, ha! ha! 
Come, praise me, praise me, for a thoughtful parent. 
There's nothing makes a better bed than ferns 
Either for sleeping sound or rosy dreams. 

LITTLE JOHN 

Take care the fern-seed that the fairies use 
Get not among thy yellow locks, my Titan, 
Or thou'lt wake up invisible. There's none 
Too much of Much already. 

MUCH 

[Looking up at him impudently.] 

It would take 
Our big barn full of fern-seed, I misdoubt. 
To make thee walk invisible. Little John, 
My sweet Tom Thumb ! And, in this troublous age 



168 ' SHERWOOD 

Of forest-laws, if we night-walking minions, 

We gentlemen of the moon, could only hunt 

Invisible, there's many and many of us 

With thumbs lopped off, eyes gutted and legs pruned, 

Slick, like poor pollarded pear-trees, would be lying 

Happy and whole this day beneath the boughs. 

LITTLE JOHN 

Invisible? Ay, but what would Jenny say 
To such a ghostly midge as thou would'st be 
Sipping invisibly at her cherry lips. 

MUCH 

Why, there now, that's a teaser. E'en as it is 

(Don't joke about it) my poor Jenny takes 

The smallness of her Much sorely to heart ! 

And though I often tell her half a loaf 

(Ground in our mill) is better than no bread, 

She weeps, poor thing, that an impartial heaven 

Bestows on her so small a crumb of bliss 

As me! You'd scarce believe, now, half the nostrums, 

Possets and strangely nasty herbal juices 

That girl has made me gulp, in the vain hope 

That I, the frog, should swell to an ox like thee. 

I tell her it's all in vain, and she still cheats 

Her fancy and swears I've grown well nigh three feet 

Already. Lord, she's desperate. She'll advance 

Right inward to the sources of creation. 

She'll take the reins of the world in hand. She'll stop 

The sun like Joshua, turn the moon to blood. 

And if I have to swallow half the herbs 

In Sherwood, I shall stalk a giant yet. 

Shoulder to shoulder with thee, Little John, 

And crack thy head at quarter-staff. But don't, 

Don't joke about it. 'Tis a serious matter. 

LITTLE JOHN 

Into the cave, then, with thy feather-bed. 

Old Much, thy father, waits thee there to make 

A table of green turfs for Robin Hood. 



SHERWOOD 169 

We shall have guests anon, merry time^, 
Baron and Knight and abbot, all that ride 
Through Sherwood, all shall come and dine with him 
When they have paid their toll! Old Much is there 
Growling at thy delay. 

MUCH 

[Going towards the cave.] 

O, my poor father. 
Now, there's a sad thing, too. He is so ashamed 
Of his descendants. Why for some nine years 
He shut his eyes whenever he looked at me; 
And I have seen him on the village green 
Pretend to a stranger, once, who badgered him 
With curious questions, that I was the son 
Of poor old Gaffer Bramble, the lame sexton. 
That self-same afternoon, up comes old Bramble 
White hair a-blaze and big red waggling nose 
All shaking with the palsy; bangs our door 
Clean off its hinges with his crab-tree crutch, 
And stands there — framed — against the sunset sky! 
He stretches out one quivering fore-iinger 
At father, like the great Destroying Angel 
In the stained window: straight, the milk boiled over, 
The cat ran, baby squalled and mother screeched. 
Old Bramble asks my father — what — what — what 
He meant — he meant — he meant! You should have seen 
My father's hopeless face! Lord,' how he blushed, 
Red as a beet-root! Lord, Lord, how he blushed! 
'Tis a hard business when a parent looks 
Askance upon his offspring. 

[Exit into the cave.] 

LITTLE JOHN 

Skip, you chatterer! 
Here comes our master. 

[Enter Robin Hood.] 

Master, where hast thou been? 
I feared some harm had come to thee. What's this? 
This was a cloth- j^ard shaft that tore thy coat! 



170 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

Oh, ay, they barked my shoulder, devil take them. 

I got it on the borders of the wood. 

St. Nicholas, my lad, they're on the watch. 

LITTLE JOHN 

What didst thou there? They're on the watch, i' faith! 

A squirrel could not pass them. Why, my namesake 

Prince John would sell his soul to get thy head, 

And both his ears for Lady Marian; 

And whether his ears or soul be worth the more, 

I know not. When the first lark flittered up 

To sing, at dawn, I woke; and thou wast gone. 

What didst thou there? 

ROBIN 

Well, first I went to swim 
In the deep pool below the mill. 

LITTLE JOHN 

I swam 
Enough last night to last me many a day. 
What then? 

ROBIN 

I could not wash away the thought 
Of all you told me. If Prince John should dare! 
That helpless girl! No, no, I will not think it. 
Why, Little John, I went and tried to shoot 
A grey goose wing thro' Lady Marian's casement. 

LITTLE JOHN 

Oh, ay, and a pink nosegay tied beneath it. 
Now, master, you'll forgive your Little John, — ' 
But that's midsummer madness and the may 
Is only half in flower as yet. But why — 
You are wounded — why are you so pale? 



SHERWOOD 171 

ROBIN 

No- -no — 1 
Not wounded; but oh, my good faithful friend, 
She is not tlaere! I wished to send her warning. 
I could not creep much closer; but I swear 
I think the castle is in the hands of John. 
I saw some men upon the battlements, 
Not hers — I know — not hers! 

LITTLE JOHN 

Hist, who comes here? 
[He seizes Ms how and stands ready to shoot.] 

ROBIN 

Stop, man, it is the fool. Thank God, the fool, 
Shadow-of-a-Leaf, my Marian's dainty fool. 
How now, good fool, what news? What news? 
[Enter Shadow-of-a-leaf.] 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Good fool! 
Should I be bad, sir, if I chanced to bring 
No news at all? That is the wise man's way. 
Thank heaven, I've lost my wits. I am but a leaf 
Dancing upon the wild winds of the world, 
A prophet blown before them. Well, this evening, 
It is that lovely grey %vind from the West 
That silvers all the fields and all the seas, 
And I'm the herald of May! 



I pray thee, do not jest. 



ROBIN 

Come, Shadow-of-a-Leaf, 



SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

I do not jest. 
I am vaunt-courier to a gentleman, 
A sweet slim page in Lincoln green who comes, 
Wood-knife on hip, and wild rose in his face, 



172 SHERWOOD 

With golden news of Marian. Oh, his news 

Is one crammed honeycomb, swelling with sweetness 

In twenty thousand cells; but delicate! 

So send thy man aside. 

ROBIN 

Go, Little John. 
[Little John goes into the cave.] 
Well, Shadow-of-a-Leaf, where is he? 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

At this moment 
His hair is tangled in a rose bush : hark. 
He swears, like a young leopard! Nay, he is free. 
Come, master page, here is that thief of love. 
Give him your message. I'll to Little John. 
[Exit into the cave. Enter Marian, as a page in Lincoln green, 
her face muffled in a hood.] 

ROBIN 
Good even, master page, what is thy news 
Of Lady Marian? 

{She stands silent.] 

Answer me quickly, come, 
Hide not thy face! 

[She still stands muffled and silent.] 

Come, boy, the fool is chartered, 
Not thou; and I'll break off this hazel switch 
And make thee dance if thou not answer me. 
What? Silent still? Sirrah, this hazel wand 
Shall lace thee till thou tingle, top to toe. 
I'll . . . 

MARIAN 

[Unmuffling.] 
Robin! 

ROBIN 

[Catches her in his arms with a cry.] 
Marian! Marian! 



SHERWOOD 173 

MARIAN 



Robin, you did not know me. 



Fie upon you, 



ROBIN 

[Embracing her.] 

Oh, you seemed 
Ten thousand miles away. This is not moonlight. 
And I am not Endymion. Could I dream 
My Dian would come wandering through the fern 
Before the sunset? Even that rose your face 
You muffled in its own green leaves. 

MARIAN 

But you. 
Were hidden in the heart of Sherwood, Robin, 
Hidden behind a million mighty boughs. 
And yet I found you. 

ROBIN 

Ay, the young moon stole 
In pity down to her poor shepherd boy; 
But he could never climb the fleecy clouds 
Up to her throne, never could print one kiss 
On her immortal lips. He lay asleep 
Among the poppies and the crags of Latmos, 
And she came down to him, his queen stole down. 

MARIAN 

Oh, Robin, first a rose and then a moon, 

A rose that breaks at a breath and falls to your feet, 

The fickle moon — Oh, hide me from the world; 

For there they say love goes by the same law! 

Let me be outlawed then. I cannot change. 

Sweetheart, sweetheart, Prince John will hunt me down! 

Prince John — Queen Elinor will hunt me down! 

ROBIN 

Queen Elinor! Nay, but tell me what this means? 
How came you here? 



174 SHERWOOD 

MARIAN 

The Queen — she came last night, 
Made it an odious kind of praise to me 
That he, not three months wedded to his bride, 
Should — pah! 

And then she said five hundred men 
Were watching round the borders of the wood; 
But she herself would take me safely through them. 
Said that I should be safer here with Robin, 
She had your name so pat — and I gave way. 
[Enter Queen Elinor behind. She conceals herself to listen. 

ROBIN 
Marian, she might have trapped you to Prince John. 

MARIAN 

No; no; I think she wanted me to guide her 
Here to your hiding place. She wished to see you 
Herself, unknown to John, I know not why. 
It was my only way. Her skilful tongue 
Quite won my father over, made him think, 
Poor father, clinging to his lands again, 
He yet might save them. And so, without ado 
(It win be greatly to the joy of Much, 
Your funny little man), I bade my maid 
Jenny, go pack her small belongings up 
This morning, and to follow with Friar Tuck 
And Widow Scarlet. They'll be here anon. 

ROBIN 
Where did you leave the Queen? 

MARIAN 

Robin, she tried 
To kill me! We were deep within the wood 
And she began to tell me a wild tale, 
Saying that I reminded her of days 
When Robin was her page, and how you came 
To Court, a breath of April in her life. 



SHERWOOD 175 

And how you worshipped her, and how she grew 
To love you. But she saw you loved me best 
(So would she mix her gall and lies with honey), 
So she would let you go. And then she tried 
To turn my heart against you, bade me think 
Of all the perils of your outlawry, 
Then flamed with anger when she found my heart 
Steadfast; and when I told her we drew nigh 
The cave, she bade me wait and let her come 
First, here, to speak with you. Some devil's trick 
Gleamed in her smile, the way some women have 
Of smiling with their lips, wreathing the skin 
In pleasant ripples, laughing with their teeth, 
While the cold eyes watch, cruel as a snake's 
That fascinates a bird. I'd not obey her. 
She whipped a dagger out. Had it not been 
For Shadow-of-a-Leaf , who dogged us all the way, 
Poor faithful fool, and leapt out at her hand, 
She would have killed me. Then she darted away 
Like a wild thing into the woods, trying to find 
Your hiding place most like. 

ROBIN 

Marian, why, 
Why did you trust her? Listen, who comes here? 

[Enter Friar Tuck, Jenny and Widow Scarlet.] 
Ah, Friar Tuck! 

MARIAN 
Good Jenny! 



ROBIN 



And Widow Scarlet! 



FRIAR TUCK 

children, children, this is thirsty weather! 

The heads I have cracked, the ribs I have thwacked, the bones 

1 have bashed with my good quarter-staff, to bring 
These bits of womankind through Sherwood Forest. 



176 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

What, was there scuffling, friar? 

FRIAR TUCK 

Some two or three 
Pounced on us, ha! ha! ha! 

JENNY 

A. score at least, 
Mistress, most unchaste ruffians. 

FRIAR TUCK 

They've gone home. 
Well chastened by the Church. This pastoral staff 
Mine oaken Pax Vobiscum, sent 'em home 
To think about their sins, v^th watering eyes. 
You never saw a bunch of such blue faces, 
Bumpy and juicy as a bunch of grapes 
Bruised in a Bacchanalian orgy, dripping 
The reddest wine a man could wish to see. 

ROBIN 

I picture it — those big brown hands of thine 
Grape-gathering at their throttles, ha! ha! ha! 
Come, Widow Scarlet, come, look not so sad. 

WIDOW SCARLET 

O master, master, they have named the day 
For killing of my boy. 

ROBIN 

They have named the day 
For setting of him free, then, my good dame. 
Be not afraid. We shall be there, eh, Friar? 
Grape-gathering, eh? 

FRIAR 

Thou'lt not be there thyself 
My son, the game's too dangerous now, methinks. 



SHERWOOD 177 

ROBIN 
I shall be there myself. The game's too good 
To lose. We'll all be there. You're not afraid, 
Marian, to spend a few short hours alone 
Here in the woods with Jenny. 



MARIAN 
Robin. 



Not for myself, 



ROBIN 
We shall want every hand that day, 
And you'll be safe enough. You know we go 
Disguised as gaping yokels, old blind men. 
With patches on their eyes, poor wandering beggars, 
Pedlars with pins and poking-sticks to sell; 
And when the time is come — a merry blast 
Rings out upon a bugle and suddenly 
The Sheriff is aware tha't Sherwood Forest 
Has thrust its green boughs up beneath his feet. 
Off go the cloaks and all is Lincoln green, 
Great thwacking clubs and twanging bows of yew. 
Oh, we break up like nature thro' the laws 
Of that dark world; and then, good Widow Scarlet, 
Back to the cave we come and your good Will 
Winds his big arm about you once again. 
Go, Friar, take her in and make her cosy. 
Jenny, your Much will grow three feet at least 
With joy to welcome you. He is in the cave. 
[Feiar Tuck and Widow Scarlet go towards the cave.\ 

FRIAR TUCK 
Now for a good bowse at a drinking can. 
I've got one cooling in the cave, unless 
That rascal, Little John, has drunk it all. 

[Exeunt into cave.] 

JENNY 
[To Marian.] 
Mistress, I haven't spoke a word to you 
For nigh three hours. 'Tis most unkind, I think. " 

12 



178 SHERWOOD 

MARIAN 
Go, little tyrant, and be kind to Much. 

JENNY 

Mistress, it isn't Much I want. Don't think 
Jenny comes trapesing through these awful woods 
For Much. I haven't spoke a word with you 
For nigh three hours. 'Tis most unldnd, I think. 

MARIAN 

Wait, Jenny, then, I'll come and talk with you. 

Robin, she is a tyrant; but she loves me. 

And if I do not go, she'll pout and sulk 

Three days on end. But she's a wondrous girl. 

She'd work until she dropped for me. Poor Jenny! 

ROBIN 

That's a quaint tyranny. Go, dear Marian, go; 

But not for long. We have so much to say. 

Come quickly back. 

[Exit Marian. Robin paces thoughtfully across the glade. 

Queen Elinor steals out of her hiding place and 

stands before him.] 

You here! 

ELINOR 

Robin, can you 
Believe that girl? Am I so treacherous? 

ROBIN 

It seems you have heard whate'er I had to say. 

ELINOR 

Surely you cannot quite forget those days 
When you were kind to me. Do you remember 
The sunset through that oriel? 



SHERWOOD 179 

ROBIN 

Ay, a god 
Grinning thro' a horse-collar at a pitiful page, 
Dazed with the first red gleam of what he thought 
Life, as the trouveres find it! I am ashamed. 
Remembering how your quick tears blinded me! 

ELINOR 

Ashamed! You — you — that in my bitter grief 
When Rosamund — 

ROBIN 

I know! I thought your woes, 
Those tawdry relics of your treacheries, 
Wrongs quite unparalleled. I would have fought 
Roland himself to prove you spotless then. 

ELINOR 

Oh, you speak thus to me! Robin, beware! 

I have come to you, I have trampled on my pride, 

Set all on this one cast! If you should now 

Reject me, humble me to the dust before 

That girl, beware! I never forget, I warn you; 

I never forgive. 

ROBIN 

Are you so proud of that? 

ELINOR 

Ah, well, forgive me, Robin. I'll save you yet 
From all these troubles of your outlawry! 
Trust me — for I can wind my poor Prince John 
Around my little finger. Who knows — with me 
To help you — there are but my two sons' lives 
That greatly hinder it — why, yourself might reign 
Upon the throne of England. 



180 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

Are you so wrapped 
In treacheries, helplessly false, even to yourself, 
That now you do not know falsehood from truth, 
Darkness from light? 

ELINOR 

O Robin, I was true 
At least to you. If I were false to others. 
At least I — 

ROBIN 

No — not that — that sickening plea 
Of truth in treachery. Treachery cannot live 
With truth. The soul wherein they are wedded dies 
Of leprosy. 

ELINOR 

[Coming closer to him.] 

Have you no pity, Robin, 
No kinder word than this for the poor creature 
That crept — Ah, feel my heart, feel how it beats! 
No pity? 

ROBIN 

Five years ago this might have moved me! 

ELINOR 

No pity? 

ROBIN 

None. There is no more to say. 
My men shall guide you safely through the wood. 

ELINOR 
I never forgive! 

[Enter Marian from the cave; she stands silent and startled.] 



SHERWOOD 181 

ROBIN 

My men shall guide you back. 
[Calls.] 
Ho, there, my lads! 

[Enter several of the Outlaws.] 

This lady needs a guide 
Back thro' the wood. 

ELINOR 

Good-bye, then, Robin, and good-bye to you. 
Sweet mistress! You have wronged me! What of that? 
For — when we meet — Come, lead on, foresters! 
[Exeunt the Queen and her guides.] 

MARIAN 

O Robin, Robin, how the clouds begin 

To gather — how that woman seems to have brought 

A nightmare on these woods. 

ROBIN 

Forget it all! 
She is so tangled in those lies the world 
Draws round some men and women, none can help her. 
Marian, for God's sake, let us quite forget 
That nightmare! Oh, that perfect brow of yours. 
Those perfect eyes, pure as the violet wells 
That only mirror heaven and are not dimmed 
Except by clouds that drift thro' heaven and catch 
God's glory in the sunset and the dawn. 

MARIAN 

It is enough for them simply to speak 
The love they hold for you. But — I still fear. 
Robin — think you — she might have overheard 
Your plan — the rescue of Will Scarlet? 



1"82 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

Why- 
No — No — some time had passed, and yet — she seemed 
To have heard your charge against her! No, she guessed it. 
Come — ^let us brush these cobwebs from our minds. 
Look how the first white star begins to tremble 
Like a big blossom in that sycamore. 
Now you shall hear our forest ritual. 
Ho, Little John! Summon the lads together! 

[The Outlaws come out of the cave. Little John hlows a bugle 
and others come in from the forest.] 

Friar, read us the rules. 

FRIAR TUCK 

First, shall no man 
Presume to call our Robin Hood or any 
By name of Earl, lord, baron, knight or squire, 
But simply by their names as men and brothers: 
Second, that Lady Marian while she shares 
Our outlaw life in Sherwood shall be called 
Simply Maid Marian. Thirdly, we that follow 
Robin, shall never in thought or word or deed 
Do harm to widow, wife or maid; but hold, 
Each, for his mother's or sister's or sweetheart's sake, 
The glory of womanhood, a sacred thing, 
A star twixt earth and heaven. Fourth, whomsoever 
Ye meet in Sherv/ood ye shall bring to dine 
With Robin, saving carriers, posts and folk 
That ride with food to serve the market towns 
Or any, indeed, that serve their fellow men. 
Fifth, you shall never do the poor man wrong, 
Nor spare a priest or usurer. You shall take 
The waste wealth of the rich to help the poor. 
The baron's gold to stock the widow's cupboard, 
The naked ye shall clothe, the hungry feed. 
And lastly shall defend with all your power 
All that are trampled under by the world, 
The old, the sick and all men in distress. 



SHERWOOD 183 

ROBIN 

So, if it be no dream, we shall at last 
Hasten the kingdom of God's will on earth. 
There shall be no more talk of rich and poor, 
Norman and Saxon. We shall be one people, 
One family, clustering all with happy hands 
And faces round that glowing hearth, the sun. 
Now let the bugle sound a golden challenge 
To the great world. Greenleaf, a forest call! 

[Reynold Greenleaf bloivs a resounding call.] 
Now let the guards be set; and then, to sleep! 
To-morrow there'll be work enough for all. 
The hut for Jenny and Maid Marian! 
Come, you shall see how what we lack in halls 
We find in bowers. Look how from every branch 
Such tapestries as Idngs could never buy 
Wave in the starlight. You'll be waked at dawn 
By feathered choirs whose notes were taught in heaven. 

MUCH 

Come, Jenny, come, we must prepare the hut 

For Mistress Marian. Here's a bundle of ferns! 

[They go into the hut. The light is growing dimmer and richer.] 

LITTLE JOHN 
And here's a red cramoisy cloak, a baron 

[Handing them in at the door.\ 
Dropt, as he fled one night from Robin Hood; 
And here's a green, and here's a midnight blue, 
All soft as down. But wait, I'll get you more. 
[Two oj the Outlaws appear at the door with deerskins. Shadow- 
of-a-Leaf stands behind them with a great hunch of 
flowers and ferns.] 

FIRST OUTLAW 
Here's fawn-skins, milder than a maiden's cheek. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
Oh, you should talk in rhyme! The world should sing 
Just for this once in tune, if Love were king! 



184 SHERWOOD 

SECOND OUTLAW 
Here's deer-skins, for a carpet, smooth and meek. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

I knew you would! Ha! ha! Now look at what I bring! 
[He throws flowers into the hut, spray by spray, speaking in a 

kind of ecstasy.] 
Here's lavender and love and sweet wild thyme, 
And dreams and blue-bells that the fairies chime, 
Here's meadow-sweet and moonlight, bound in posies, 
With ragged robin, traveller's joy and roses. 
And here — just three leaves from a weeping willow; 
And here — that's best — deep poppies for your pillow. 

MUCH 

And here's a pillow that I made myself. 

Stuffed with dry rose-leaves and grey pigeon's down, 

The softest thing on earth except my heart! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

[Going aside and throwing himself down among the ferns to watch.} 
Just three sweet breaths and then the song is flown! 
[Much looks at him for a moment with a puzzled face, then turns 
to the hut again.] 

MUCH 

Jenny, here, take it — though I'm fond of comforts. 
Take it and give it to Maid Marian. 

JENNY 

Why, Much, 'tis bigger than thyself. 

MUCH 

Hush, child. 
I meant to use it lengthways. 'Twould have made 
A feather-bed complete for your poor Much, 
Take it! 

[The Outlaws all go into the cave.] 



SHERWOOD 185 

MARIAN 

Robin, what a fairy palace! 
How cold and grey the walls of castles seem 
Beside your forest's fragrant halls and bowers. 
I do not think that I shall be afraid 
To sleep this night, as I have often been 
Beneath our square bleak battlements. 

ROBIN 

And look, 
Between the boughs, there is your guard, all night. 
That great white star, white as an angel's wings. 
White as the star that shone on Bethlehem! 
Good-night, sweetheart, good-night! 

MARIAN 

Good-night! 

ROBIN 

One kiss! 

Oh, clear bright eyes, dear heavens of sweeter stars. 

Where angels play, and your own sweeter soul 

Smiles like a child into the face of God, 

Good-night! Good-night! 

[Marian goes into the hut. The door is shut. Robin goes to 
the mouth of the cave and throws himself down on a 
couch of deerskins. The light grows dimly rich and 
fairy-like.] 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

[Rising to his knees.] 

Here comes the little cloud! 
[A little moonlit cloud comes floating down between the tree-tops 

into the glade. Titania is seen reposing u '^n it. She 

steps to earth. The cloud melts aivay.] 
How blows the wind from fairyland, Titania? 



185 SHERWOOD 

TITANIA 

Shadow-of-a-Leaf, the wicked queen has heard 
Your master's plan for saving poor Will Scarlet. 
She knows Maid Marian will be left alone, 
Unguarded in these woods. The wicked Prince 
WUl steal upon her loneliness. He plots 
To carry her away. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

What can we do? 
Can I not break my fairy vows and tell? 

TITANIA 

No, no; you cannot, even if you would, 
Convey our fairy lore to mortal ears. 
When have they heard our honeysuckle bugles 
Blowing reveille to the crimson dawn? 
We can but speak by dreams; and, if you spoke. 
They'd whip you, for your words would all ring false 
Like sweet bells out of tune, 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

What can we do? 

TITANIA 

Nothing, except on pain of death, to stay 

The course of Time and Tide. There's OberonI 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

OberonI 

TITANIA 

He can tell you more than I. 
[Enter Oberon,] 

OBERON 

Where's Orchis? Where's our fairy trumpeter 
To call the court together? 



SHERWOOD 187 

ORCHIS 



Here, my liege. 



OBERON 



Bugle them hither; let thy red cheeks puff 

Until thy curled petallic trumpet thrill 

More loudly than a yellow-banded bee 

Thro' all the clover clumps and boughs of thyme. 

They are scattered far abroad. 



Outroar the very wasp! 



ORCHIS 



[Exit] 



OBERON 



My liege, it shall 



[As he speaks, the fairies come flocking from all sides into the 
glade.] 

Methinks they grow 
Too fond of feasting. As I passed this way 
I saw the fairy halls of hollowed oaks 
All lighted with their pale green glow-worm lamps. 
And under great festoons of maiden-hair 
Their brilliant mushroom tables groaned with food. 
Hundreds of rase- winged fairies banqueted! 
All Sherwood glittered with their prismy goblets 
Brimming the thrice refined and luscious dew 
Not only of our own most purplest violets, 
But of strange fragrance, wild exotic nectars. 
Drawn from the fairy blossoms of some star 
Beyond our tree-tops! Ay, beyond that moon 
Which is our natural limit — the big lamp 
Heaven lights upon our boundary. 

ORCHIS 

Mighty King, 
The Court is all attendant on thy word. 



188 SHERWOOD 

OBERON 

[With great dignity.] 
Elves, pixies, nixies, gnomes and leprechauns, 

[He pauses.] 
We are met, this moonlight, for momentous councils 
Concerning those two drowsy human lovers, 
Maid Marian and her outlawed Robin Hood. 
They are in dire peril ; yet we may not break 
Our vows of silence. Many a time 
Has Robin Hood by kindly words and deeds 
Done in his human world, sent a new breath 
Of life and joy like Spring to fairyland; 
And at the moth-hour of this very dew-fall, 
He saved a fairy, whom he thought, poor soul, 
Only a may-fly in a spider's web, 
He saved her from the clutches of that Wizard, 
That Cruel Thing, that dark old Mystery, 
Whom ye all know and shrink from — 

[Exclamations of horror fro7n the fairies.] 

Plucked her forth, 
So gently that not one bright rainbow gleam 
Upon her wings was clouded, not one flake 
Of bloom brushed off — there lies the broken web. 
Go, look at it; and here is pale Perilla 
To tell you all the tale. 

[The fairies cluster to look at the weh, etc.] 

A FAIRY 

Can we not make them free 
Of fairyland, like Shadow-of-a-Leaf, to come 
And go, at will, upon the wings of dreams? 

OBERON 
Not till they lose their wits like Shadow-of-a-Leafl 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
Can I not break my fairy vows and tell? 



SHERWOOD 189 

OBERON 

Only on pain of what we fairies call 
Death! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
Death? 

OBERON 

Never to join our happy revels, 
Never to pass the gates of fairyland 
Again, but die like mortals. What that means 
We do not know — who knows? 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

If I could save them! — 
I am only Shadow-of-a-Leaf ! 

OBERON 

There is a King 
Beyond the seas. If he came home in time, 
All might be well. We fairies only catch 
Stray gleams, wandering shadows of things to come. 

TITANIA 
Oh, if the King came home from the Crusade! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Why will he fight for graves beyond the sea? 

OBERON 

Our elfin couriers brought the news at dusk 

That Lion-Heart, while wandering home thro' Europe, 

In jet-black armour, like an errant knight, 

Despite the great red cross upon his shield, 

Was captured by some wicked prince and thrust 

Into a dungeon. Only a song, they say, 

Can break those prison-bars Th'sre is a minstrel 



190 SHERWOOD 

That loves his King. If he should roam the world 
Singing until from that dark tower he hears 
The King reply, the King would be set free. 

TITANIA 

Only a song, only a minstrel? 

OBERON 

Ay; 
And Blondel is his name. 

[A long, low sound of wailing is heard in the distance. The 
fairies shudder and creep together.] 

TITANIA 

Hark, what is that? 

OBERON 

The cry of the poor, the cry of the oppressed, 
The sound of women weeping for their children, 
The victims of the forest laws. The moan 
Of that dark world where mortals live and die 
Sweeps like an icy wind thro' fairyland. 
And oh, it may grow bitterer yet, that sound! 
'Twas Merlin's darkest prophecy that earth 
Should all be wrapped in smoke and fire, the woods 
Hewn down, the flowers discoloured and the sun 
Begrimed, until the rows of lifeless trees 
Against the greasy sunset seemed no more 
Than sooty smudges of an ogre's thumbs 
Upon the sweating forehead of a slave. 
While, all night long, fed with the souls of men, 
And bodies, too, great forges blast and burn 
Till the great ogre's cauldrons brim with gold. 

[The wailing sound is heard again in the distance.] 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

To be shut out for ever, only to hear 
Those cries! I am only Shadow-of-a-Leaf, the fool, 
I cannot face it! Is there no hope but this? 
No hope for Robin and Maid Marian? 



SHERWOOD 191 

OBERON 

If the great King comes home from the Crusade 
In time! If not, — there is another King 
Beyond the world, they say. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Death, that dark death! 
To leave the sunlight and the flowers for ever! 
I cannot bear it! Oh, I cannot tell them. 
I'll wait — perhaps the great King will come home. 
If not — Oh, hark, a wandering minstrel's voice? 

OBERON 

Who is drawing hither? Listen, fairies, listen! 

[Song heard approaching thro' the wood.] 

Knight on the narrow way, 

Where wouldst thou ride? 
" Onward," I heard him say, 

"Love, to thy side!" 

"Nay," sang a bird above; 

"Stay, for I see 
Death in the mask of love, 

Waiting for thee." 

[The song breaks off. Enter a Minstrel, leading a great white 
steed. He pauses, confronted by the fairy host. The 
moonlight dazzles him.] 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Minstrel, art thou, too, free of fairyland? 
Where wouldst thou ride? What is thy name? 



MINSTREL 

Is Blondel. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Blondel! 



My name 



192 SHERWOOD 

THE FAIRIES 
Blondel! 

MINSTREL 

And I ride 
Through all the world to seek and find my King! 
[He passes through the fairy host and goes into the woods on the 
further side of the glade, continuing his song, which 
dies away in the distance.] 

[Song.] 
" Death? What is death? " he cried. 

" I must ride on, 
On to my true love's side, 
Up to her throne! " 
[Curtain.] 



ACT III 

Scene I. May-day. An open place (near Nottingham). A 
crowd of rustics and townsfolk assembling to see the 
execution of Will Scarlet. 

FIRST RUSTIC 

A sad may-day! Where yonder gallows glowers, 
We should have raised the may-pole. 

SECOND RUSTIC 

Ay, no songs. 
No kisses in the ring, no country dances 
To-day; no lads and lasses on the green, 
Crowning their queen of may. 

[Enter Robin Hood, disguised as an old beggar, with a green 
patch on one eye.] 

ROBIN 

Is this the place. 
Masters, where they're a-goin' to hang Will Scarlet? 



SHERWOOD 193 

FIRST RUSTIC 
Ay, father, more's the pity. 

ROBIN 

Eh! Don't ye think 
There may be scuffling, masters? There's a many 
That seems to like him well, here, roundabouts. 

SECOND RUSTIC 
Too many halberts round him. There's no chance. 

ROBIN 

I've heard the forest might break out, the lads 
In Lincoln green, you wot of! If they did? 

FIRST RUSTIC 

There's many here would swing a cudgel and help 

To trip the Sheriff up. If Robin Hood 

Were only here! But then he's outlawed now. 

SECOND RUSTIC 

Ay, and there's big rewards out. It would be 
Sure death for him to try a rescue now. 
The biggest patch of Lincoln Green we'll see 
This day, is that same patch on thy old eye. 
Eh, lads! 

THIRD RUSTIC 

What's more, they say Prince John is out 
This very day, scouring thro' Sherwood forest 
In quest of Lady Marian! 

ROBIN 
[Sharply.] 

You heard that? 

THIRD RUSTIC 

Ay, for they say she's flown to Sherwood forest. 

13 



194 SHERWOOD 

SECOND RUSTIC 

Ah! Ah? That's why he went. I saw Prince John! 
With these same eyes I saw him riding out 
To Sherwood, not an hour ago. 

ROBIN 

You saw him? 

SECOND RUSTIC 
Ay, and he only took three men at arms. 

FIRST RUSTIC 

Three men at arms! Why then, he must ha' known 
That Robin's men would all be busy here! 
He's none so bold, he would not risk his skin! 
I think there'll be some scuffling after all. 

ROBIN 

Ay, tell 'em so — go, spread it thro' the crowd! 

[He mutters to himself.] 
He'd take some time, to find her, but 'fore God 
We must be quick; 'fore God we must be quick! 

SECOND RUSTIC 

Why, father, one would never think to see thee 
Thou had'st so sound a heart! 

FIRST RUSTIC 

Ah, here they come! 
The Sheriff and his men; and, in the midst. 
There's poor Will Scarlet bound. 

THE CROWD MURMURS 

Ah, here they come! 
Look at the halberts shining! Can you see him? 



SHERWOOD 195 

FIRST RUSTIC 
There, there he is. His face is white: but, Lord, 
He takes it bravely. 

SECOND RUSTIC 

He's a brave man. Will. 

SHERIFF 
Back with the crowd there, guards; delay no time! 

SOME WOMEN IN THE CROWD 
Ah, ah, poor lad! 

ROBIN 

[Eagerly.] 

What are they doing now? 
I cannot see! 

FIRST RUSTIC 

The Sheriff's angered now! 

SECOND RUSTIC 
Ay, for they say a messenger has come 
From that same godless hangman whose lean neck 
I'd like to twist, saying he is delayed. 
'Tis the first godly deed he has ever done. 

THIRD RUSTIC 

The Sheriff says he will not be delayed. 
But who will take the hangman's office? 

ROBIN 

Masters, 
I have a thought; make way; let me bespeak 
The Sheriff! 

RUSTICS 

How now, father, what's to do? 



196 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

Make way, I tell you. Here's the man they want! 

SHERIFF 

What's this? 

ROBIN 

Good master Sheriff, I've a grudge 
Against Will Scarlet. Let me have the task 
Of sending him to heaven! 

CROWD 

Ah-h-h, the old devil! 

SHERIFF 
Come on, then, and be brief! 

ROBIN 

I'm not a hangman; 
But I can cleave your thinnest hazel wand 
At sixty yards. 

SHERIFF 

Shoot, then, and make an end. 
Make way there, clear the way! 

[An opening is made in the crowd. Robin stands in the gapy 
Will Scaklet is not seen by the audience.] 

CROWD 

Ah-h-h, the old devil! 

ROBIN 

I'll shoot him one on either side, just graze him. 

To show you how I love him; then the third 

Slick in his heart. 

[He shoots. A murmur goes up from the crowd. The crowd 

hides Will Scaklet during the shooting. But Robin 

remains in full view, in the opening.] 



SHERWOOD 197 

SHERIFF 

[Angrily.] 

Take care! You've cut the cord 
That bound him on that side! 

ROBIN 

Then here's the second! 
I will be careful! 

[He takes a steady aim.] 

A RUSTIC TO HIS NEIGHBOURS 

I' faith, lads, he can shoot! 
What do you think — that green patch on his eye 
Smacks of the merry men! He's tricking them! 

[Robin shoots. A louder murmur goes up from the crowd.] 

SHERIFF 
You have cut the rope again! 

A CRY 

He has cut him free! 

ROBIN 

All right! All right! It's just to tease the dog! 
Here's for the third now! 

[He aims and shoots quickly. There is a loud cry of a wounded 
man; then a shout from the crowd.] 

THE CROWD 

Ah-h-h, he has missed ; he has killed 
One of the guards! 

FIRST RUSTIC 

What has he done? 

SECOND RUSTIC 

He has lulled 
One of the Sheriff's men! 



198 SHERWOOD 

SHERIFF 

There's treachery here! 
I'll cleave the first man's heart that moves! 



WiU Scarlet, 
Treachery! Help! 



ROBIN 

Pick up that dead man's halbert! 

SHERIFF 

Down with the villain! 

ROBIN 
[Throws off his beggar's crouch and hurls the Sheriff and several 
of his men back amongst the crowd. His cloak drops off.] 
Sherwood! A merry Sherwood! 

CROWD 
Ah! ha! The Lincoln Green! A Robin Hood! 
[A bugle rings out and immediately some of the yokels throw off 
their disguise and the Lincoln green appears as by 
magic amongst the crowd. The guards are rushed and 
hustled by them. Robin and several of his men make 
a ring round Will Scarlet.] 

SHERIFF 

It is the outlawed Earl of Huntingdon: 

There is a great reward upon his head. 

Down with him! 

[The Sheriff's men make a rush at the little band. A Knight 
in jet black armour, with a red-cross shield, suddenly ap- 
pears and forces his way through the mob, sword in 
hand.] 

KNIGHT 

What, so many against so few! 
Back, you wild wolves. Now, foresters, follow me, 
For our St. George and merry England, charge, 
Charge them, my lads! 

{The Foresters make a rush with him and the Sheriff and his 
men take to flight.] 



SHERWOOD 1 99 

ROBIN 

Now back to Sherwood, swiftly! 
A horse, or I shall come too late; a horse! 

[He sees the Knight in armour standing by his horse.] 
Your pardon, sir; our debt to you is great, 
Too great almost for thanks; but if you be 
Bound by the vows of chivalry, I pray you 
Lend me your charger; and my men will bring you 
To my poor home in Sherwood. There you'll find 
A most abundant gratitude. 

KNIGHT 

Your name? 

ROBIN 
Was Huntingdon; but now is Robin Hood. 

KNIGHT 
If I refuse? 

ROBIN 

Then, sir, I must perforce 
Take it. I am an outlaw, but the law 
Of manhood still constrains me — 'tis a matter 
Of life and death — 

KNIGHT 

Take it and God be with you! 
I'll follow you to Sherwood with your men. 
[Robin seizes the horse, leaps to the saddle, and gallops away.] 
[Curtain.] 



Scene II. Sherwood Forest. Outside the cave. Jenny, Marian 
and Widow Scarlet. 

MARIAN 

This dreadful waiting! How I wish that Robin 
Had listened to the rest and stayed with me. 
How still the woods are! Jenny, do you think 



200 SHERWOOD 

There will be fighting? Oh, I am selfish, mother; 

You need not be afraid. Robin will bring 

Will Scarlet safely back to Sherwood. Why, 

Perhaps they are all returning even now! 

Cheer up! How long d'you think they've been away, 

Jenny, six hours or more? The sun is high. 

And all the dew is gone. 

JENNY 

Nay, scarce three hours. 
Now don't you keep a-fretting. They'll be back. 
Quite soon enough. I've scarcely spoke with you, 
This last three days and more; and even now 
It seems I cannot get you to myself. 
Two's quite enough. 

[To Widow Scarlet.] 

Come, widow, come with me. 
I'll give you my own corner in the hut 
And make you cosy. If you take a nap 
Will Scarlet will be here betimes you wake. 

[Takes her to the hut and shuts her in.] 
There, drat her, for a mumping mumble-crust! 

MARIAN 

Come, Jenny, that's too bad; the poor old dame 
Is lonely. 

JENNY 

She's not lonely when she sleeps. 
And if I never get you to myself 
Where was the good of trapesing after you 
And living here in Sherwood like wild rabbits? 
You ha'nt so much as let me comb your hair 
This last three days and more. 

MARIAN 

Well, comb it, Jenny, 
Now, if you like, and comb it all day long; 
But don't get crabbed, and don't speak so crossly! 

[Jenny begins loosening Marian's hair and combing it.] 



SHERWOOD 201 

JENNY 



Why, Mistress, it grows longer every day. 
It's far below your knees, and how it shines! 
And wavy, just like Much the Miller's brook, 
Where it comes tumbling out into the sun, 
Like gold, red gold. 

MARIAN 

Ah, that's provoking, Jenny, 
For you forgot to bring me my steel glass, 
And, if you chatter so, I shall soon want it. 

JENNY 

I've found a very good one at a pinch. 

There's a smooth silver pool, down in the stream, 

Where you can see your face most beautiful. 

MARIAN 

So that's how Jenny spends her lonely hours, 
A sad female Narcissus, while poor Much r 
D wines to an Echo! 

JENNY 

I don't like those gods:^ 
I never cared for them. But, as for Much, 
Much is the best of all the merry men. 
And, mistress, O, he speaks so beautifully. 
It might be just an Echo from blue hills 
Far, far away! You see he's quite a scholar: 
Much, more an' most (That's what he calls the three 
Greasy caparisons — much, more an' most) ! 
You see they thought that being so very small 
They could not make him grow to be a man, 
They'd make a scholar of him instead. The Friar 
Taught him his letters. He can write his name, 
And mine, and yours, just like a missal book, 
In lovely colours; and he always draws 
The first big letter of Jenny like a tree 
With naked Cupids hiding in the branches. 



202 SHERWOOD 

Mistress, I don't believe you hear one word 
I ever speak to you! Your eyes are always 
That far and far away. 

MARIAN 

I'm listening, Jenny! 

JENNY 

Well, when he draws the first big M of yours, 
He makes it like a bridge from earth to heaven, 
With white- winged angels passing up and down; 
And, underneath the bridge, in a black stream. 
He puts the drowning face of the bad Prince 
Holding his wicked hands out, while a devil 
Stands on the bank and with a pointed stake 
Keeps him from landing — 

Ah, what's that? What's that? 

MARIAN 

Jenny, how you startled me! 

JENNY 

I thought 

1 saw that same face peering thro' the ferns 
Yonder — there — see, they are shaking still. 

[She screams.] 

Ah! Ah! 
[Prince John and another man appear advancing across the 
glade.] 

JOHN 

So here's my dainty tigress in her den. 
And — Warman — there's a pretty scrap for you 
Beside her. Now, sweet mistress, will you deign 
To come with me, to change these cheerless woods 
For something queenlier? If I be not mistaken, 
You have had time to tire of that dark cave. 
Was I not right, now? Surely you can see 



SHERWOOD 203 

Those tresses were not meant to waste their gold 
Upon this desert. Nay, but Marian, hear me. 
I do not jest. 
[At a sign from Marian, Jenny goes quickly inside the cave.] 
That's well! Dismiss your maid! 
Warman, remove a little. 

[His man retires.] 

I see you think 
A little better of me! Out in the wood 
There waits a palfrey for you, and the stirrup 
Longs, as I long, to clasp your dainty foot. 
I am very sure by this you must be tired 
Of outlawry, a lovely maid like you. 

[He draivs nearer.] 

MARIAN 
Wait — I must think, must think. 

JOHN 

Give me your hand I 
Why do you shrink from me? If you could know 
The fire that burns me night and day, j^ou would not 
Refuse to let me snatch one cooling kiss 
From that white hand of yours. 

MARIAN 

If you be prince, 
You will respect my loneliness and go. 

JOHN 

How can I leave you, when by day and night 

I see that face of yours. 

I'll not pretend 

I do not love you, do not long for you. 

Desire and hunger for your kiss, your touch! 

I'll not pretend to be a saint, you see! 

I hunger and thirst for you. Marian, Mariano 

MARIAN 

You are mad ! 



204 SHERWOOD 

JOHN 

Ay, mad for you. 
Body and soul 

I am broken up with love for you. Your eyes 
Flash like the eyes of a tigress, and I love them 
The better for it. 
Ah, do not shrink from me! 

[Jenny comes out of the cave and hands Marian a bow. She 
leaps back and aims it at John.] 

MARIAN 

Back, you wild beast, or by the heaven above us, 
I'll kill you! Now, don't doubt me. I can shoot 
Truly as any forester. I swear, 
Prince or no prince, king or no king, I'll kill you 
If you should stir one step from where you stand. 

JOHN 

Come, come, sweet Marian, put that weapon down. 
I was beside myself, was carried away. 
I cannot help my love for — 

MARIAN 

I'll not hear 
Another sickening word : throw down your arms. 
That dagger at your side. 



Marian, I swear — 



JOHN 

Oh, that's too foolish, 



MARIAN 

You see that rusty stain 
Upon the silver birch down yonder? Watch. 

{She shoots. Then svdftly aims at him again.] 

Now, throw your weapon down. 

{He pulls out the dagger and throws it doivn, with a shrug of his 
shoulders. One of his men steals up behind Marian.] 



SHERWOOD 205 

JENNY 

Ah, Mistress Marian, 
There's one behind you! Look! 

[The man springs forward and seizes Maeian's arms.] 

JOHN 

[Coming forward and taking hold of her also.] 

So, my sweet tigress. 

You're trapped then, are you? Well, we'll waste no time! 

We'll talk this over when we reach the castle. 

Keep off the maid, there, Warman; I can manage 

This turbulent beauty. Ah, by God, you shall 

Come! Ah? God's blood, what's this? 

[Marian has succeeded in drawing her dagger and slightly wound- 
ing him. She ivrests herself free.] 

MARIAN 

Keep back, I warn you! 

JOHN 

[Advancing slowly.] 

Strike, now strike if you will. You will not like 
To see the red blood spurting up your hand. 
That's not maid's work. Come, strike! 

[Robin Hood appears at the edge of the glade behind him 

You see, you cannot! 
Your heart is tenderer than you think. 



ROBIN 
[Quietly.] 

JOHN 



Prince John! 



[Turns round and confronts Robin.] 
Out with your blade, Warman; call up the rest! 
We can strike freely now, without a fear 
Of marring the sweet beauty of the spoil. 
We four can surely make an end of him. 



206 SHERWOOD 

Have at him, lads, and swiftly, or the thieves 
Will all be down on us. 

[Robin draios his sword and sets his back to an oak. The other 
two followers of Prince John come out of the wood.] 

ROBIN 

Come on, all four! 
This oak will shift its roots before I budge 
One inch from four such howling wolves. Come on; 
You must be tired of fighting women-folk. 
Come on! By God, sir, you must guard your head 
Better than that, 

[He disarms Warm an.] 

Or you're just food for worms 
Already; come, you dogs! 

PRINCE JOHN 

Work round, you three, 
Behind him! Drive him out from that damned oak! 

ROBIN 

Oh, that's a princely speech! Have at you, sir! 

[He strikes Prince John's sword out of his hand and turns sud- 
denly to confront the others. John picks up a dagger 
and makes as if to stab Robin in the back. At the same 
instant, bugles are heard in the distance. The red-cross 
knight flashes between the trees and seizing John's arm 
in his gauntleted hand, disarms him, then turns to help 
Robin.] 

KNIGHT 

What, four on one! Down with your blades, you curs. 

Or, by Mahound! — 

[The three men take to flight. John stands staring at the new- 
comer. The Foresters appear, surrounding the 
glade.] 



SHERWOOD 207 

JOHN 

[Muttering.] 
What? Thou? Thou? Or his ghost? 
No — no — it cannot be. 

ROBIN 

Let them yelp home, 
The pitiful jackals. They have left behind 
The prime offender. Ha, there, my merry lads, 
All's well; but take this villain into the cave 
And guard him there. 

[ The Foresters lead Prince John mto the cave.] 

JOHN 

[To the Foresters.] 

Answer me one thing: who 
Is yonder red-cross knight? 

A FORESTER 

No friend of thine, 
Whoe'er he be! 

KNIGHT 

[To Robin.] 

I need not ask his name. 
I grieve to know it! 

ROBIN 

Sir, I am much beholden 
To your good chivalry. What thanks is mine 
To give, is all your own. 

KNIGHT 

Then I ask this! 
Give me that prisoner! I think his life is mine. 

ROBIN 

You saved my own, and more, you saved much more 
Than my poor life is worth. But, sir, think well! 
This man is dangerous, not to me alone. 
But to the King of England; for he'll yet 
Usurp the throne! Think well! 



208 SHERWOOD 

KNIGHT 

I have more reasons than you know. 

ROBIN 



I ask no more. 



So be it. 



Ho! Bring the prisoner back! 

[The Foresters bring Prince John back. He stares at 
the Knight as if in fear.] 

Sir, you shall judge him. 
This prisoner is your own. 

KNIGHT 

Then — ^let him go! 



FORESTERS 



What! Set him free? 



ROBIN 

Obey! 
[They release Prince John.1 

KNIGHT 

Out of my sight; 
Go! 

PRINCE JOHN 
What man is this? 

KNIGHT 

Quickly, get thee gone! 
[Prince John goes out, shaken and white.] 

ROBIN 

We'll think no more of him! It is our rule 
That whomsoe'er we meet in merry greenwood 
Should dine with us. Will you not be our guest? 

KNIGHT 

That's a most happy thought! I have not heard 
A merrier word than dinner all this day. 
I am well-nigh starved. 



SHERWOOD 209 

ROBIN 

Will you not raise your visor 
And let us know to whose good knightly hand 
We are so beholden? 

KNIGHT 

Sir, you will pardon me, 
If, for a little, I remain unknown. 
But, tell me, are you not that Robin Hood 
Who breaks the forest laws? 

ROBIN 

That is my name. 
We hold this earth as naturally our own 
As the glad common air we breathe. We think 
No man, no king, can so usurp the world 
As not to give us room to live free lives, 
But, if you shrink from eating the King's deer — 

KNIGHT 

Shrink? Ha! ha! ha! I count it as my own! 

[The Foresters appear, preparing the dinner on a table of green 
turfs, beneath a spreading oak. Marian and Jenny 
appear at the door of the hut. Jenny goes across to help 
at the preparations for dinner.] 

ROBIN 
Ah, there's my Lady Marian! Will you not come 
And speak with her? 
[He and the Knight go and talk to Marian in the background.] 

LITTLE JOHN 

[At the table.] 

The trenchers all are set; 
Manchets of wheat, cream, curds and honey-cakes, 
Venison pasties, roasted pigeons! Much, 
Run to the cave; we'll broach our rarest wine 
To-day. Old Much is waiting for thee there 
To help him. He is growling roundly, too, 
At thy delay. 

14 



210 SHERWOOD 

MUCH 
[Going towards the cave.] 

Ah me, my poor old father! 

JENNY 
I've dressed the salt and strawed the dining hall 
Witii flowers. 

[Enter Friar Tuck with several more Foresters and "Will 
Scarlet.] 

ROBIN 

Ah, good Will Scarlet, here at last! 

FRIAR TUCK 
We should ha' been here sooner; but these others 
Borrowed a farmer's market cart and galloped 
Ahead of us! 

ROBIN 

Thy mother is in the hut, 
Sheer broken down with hope and fearfulness. 
Waiting and trembling for thee, Will. Go in, 
Put thy big arm around her. 

[Will Scarlet goes into the hut with a cry.] 

SCARLET 

Mother! 

FRIAR TUCK 

You see, 
My sons, you couldn't expect the lad to run! 
There is a certain looseness in the limbs, 
A quaking of the flesh that overcomes 
The bravest who has felt a hangman's rope 
Cuddling his neck. 

ROBIN 

You judge him by the rope 
That cuddles your slim waist! Oh, you sweet armful. 
Sit down and pant! I warrant you were glad 
To bear him company. 



SHERWOOD 211 

FRIAR TUCK 

I'll not deny it! 
I am a man of solids. Like the Church, 
I am founded on a rock. 

[He sits down.] 

ROBIN 

Solids, i' faith! 
Sir, it is true he is partly based on beef; 
He grapples with it squarely; but fluids, too. 
Have played their part in that cathedral choir 
He calls his throat. One godless virtue, sir. 
They seem to have given him. Never a nightingale 
Gurgles jug! jug! in mellower tones than he 
When jugs are flowing. Never a thrush can pipe 
Sweet, sweet, so rarely as, when a pipe of wine 
Summers his throttle, we'll make him sing to us 
One of his heathen ditties — The Malmsey Butt, 
Or Down the Merry Red Lane! 

FRIAR TUCK 

Oh, ay, you laugh, 
But, though I cannot run, when I am rested 
I'll challenge you, Robin, to a game of buffets, 
One fair, square, stand-up, stand-still, knock-down blow 
Apiece; you'll need no more. If you not kis3 
The turf, at my first clout, I wiU forego 
Malmsey for ever! 

ROBIN 

Friar, I recant; 
You're champion there. Fists oi a common size 
I will encounter; but not whirling hams 
Like thine! 

FRIAR TUCK 
I knew it! 

JENNY 
[Approaching.] 

Please you, sirs, all is ready! 



212 SHERWOOD 

FRIAR TUCK 

Ah, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, that's good news! 

[Will Scarlet comes out of the hut xoith his arm round his 

mother. They all sit down at the table of turfs. Enter 

Shadow-of-a-Leaf timidly.] 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
Is there a place for me? 

A FORESTER 

Ay, come along ! 

FRIAR TUCK 

Now, Robin, don't forget the grace, my son. 

ROBIN 

[Standing up.] 
It is our custom, sir, since our repast 
Is borrowed from the King, to drain one cup 
To him, and his return from the Crusade, 
Before we dine. That same wine-bibbing friar 
Calls it our 'grace'; and constitutes himself 
Remembrancer — without a cause, for never 
Have we forgotten, never while bugles ring 
Thro' Sherwood, shall forget — Outlaws, the King! 
[All stand up except the Knight.] 

CRIES 

The King and his return from the Crusade! 

[They drink and resume their seats.] 

ROBIN 
You did not drink the health, sir Knight. I hope 
You hold with Lion-Heart. 

KNIGHT 

Yes; I hold with him. 
You \^ere too quick for me. I had not drawn 
These gauntlets off. 

But tell me, Lady Marian, 
When is your bridal day with Robin Hood? 



SHERWOOD 213 

MARIAN 
We shall be wedded when the King comes home 
From the Crusade. 

KNIGHT 
Ah, when the King comes home! 
That's music — all the birds of April sing 
In those four words for me — the King comes home. 

MARIAN 
I am glad you love him, sir. 

ROBIN 

But you're not eating! 
Your helmet's locked and barred! Will you not raise 
Your visor? 

KNIGHT 

[Laughs.] 
Ha! ha! ha! You see I am trapped! 
I did not wish to raise it! Hunger and thirst 
Break down all masks and all disguises, Robin. 
[He rises and removes his helmet, revealing the face of Richaed 
CcEUR DE Lion.] 

ROBIN 
The King! 

[They all leap to their feet.] 

OUTLAWS 
The King! The King! 

ROBIN 

But oh, my liege, 
I should have known, when we were hard beset 
Around Will Scarlet by their swarming bands, 
And when you rode out of the Eastern sky 
And hurled our foeraen down, I should have known 
It was the King come home from the Crusade! 



214 SHERWOOD 

And when I was beset here in the wood 
By treacherous hands again, I should have known 
Whose armour suddenly burned between the leaves! 
I should have known, either it was St. George 
Or else the King come home from the Crusade! 

RICHARD 
Indeed there is one thing that might have told you, 
Robin — a lover's instinct, since it seems 
So much for you and Marian depends ^ 
On my return. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Sire, you 'wall pardon me. 
For I am onlj^ a fool, and yet methinks 
You know not haK the meaning of those words — 
The King, the Iving comes home from the Crusade! 
Thrust up your swords, heft uppermost, my lads. 
And shout — 'the King comes home from the Crusade. 
[He leaps on a seat, and thrusts up the King's sword, heft upper- 
most, as if it were a cross.] 

ROBIN 
Pardon him, sire, poor Shadow-of-a-Leaf has lost 
His wits! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

That's what Titania said you'd say, 
Poor sweet bells out of tune! But oh, don't leave, 
Don't leave the forest! There's darker things to come! 
Don't leave the forest! I have wits enough at least 
To wrap my legs around my neck for warmth 
On "winter nights. 

RICHARD 
Well, you've no need to pass 
The -winter in these woods — 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Oh, not that winter! 



SHERWOOD 215 

ROBIN 

Shadow-of-a-Leaf, be silent! 

[Shadow-of-a-Leaf goes aside and throws himself down sobbing 
among the ferns.] 

RICHARD 

When even your cave 
Methinks can scarce be cheery. Huntingdon, 
Your earldom we restore to you this day ! 
You and my Lady Marian shall return 
To Court with us, where your true bridal troth 
Shall be fulfilled with golden marriage bells. 
Now, friends, the venison pasty! We must hear 
The Malmsey Butt and Down the Merry Red Lane, 
Ere we set out, at dawn, for London Town. 

ROBIN 

Allan-a-dale shall touch a golden string 
To speed our feast, sire, for he soars above 
The gross needs of the Churchman! 

RICHARD 

Allan-a-Dale? 

WELL SCARLET 

Our greenwood minstrel, sire! His harp is ours 
Because we won his bride for him. 

RICHARD 

His bride? 

REYNOLD GREENLEAF 
Was to be wedded, sire, against her will 
Last May, to a rich old baron. 

RICHARD 

Pigeon-pie — 
And Malmsey — yes — a rich old baron — tell! 



216 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

Sire, on the wedding day, my merry men 
Crowded the aisles with uninvited guests; 
And, as the old man drew forth the golden ring. 
They threw aside their cloaks with one great shout 
Of 'Sherwood' ; and, for all its crimson panes, 
The church was one wild sea of Lincoln green! 
The Forest had broken in, sire, and the bride 
Like a wild rose tossing on those green boughs, 
Was borne away and wedded here by Tuck 
To her true lover; and so — his harp is ours. 

ALLAN-A-DALE 

No feasting song, sire, but the royal theme 
Of chivalry — a song I made last night 
In yonder ruined chapel. It is called 
The Old Knight's Vigil. 

RICHARD 

Our hearts will keep it young! 
[Allan-a-dale sings, Shadow-of-a-Leaf raises his head among 
the ferns.] 

[Song.] 

I 

Once, in this chapel, Lord 

Young and undaunted, 
Over my virgin sword 

Lightly I chaunted, — 
"Dawn ends my watch. I go 
Shining to meet the foe!" 

II 

"Swift with thy dawn," I said, 

"Set the lists ringing! 
Soon shall thy foe be sped, 

And the world singing! 
Bless my bright plume for me, 
Christ, King of Chivalry, 
[Shadow-of-a-Leaf rises to his knees amongst the ferns.] 



SHERWOOD 217 

III 

"War-worn I kneel to-night, 

Lord, by Thine altar! 
Oh, in to-morrow's fight, 

Let me not falter! 
Bless my dark arms for me, 
Christ, King of Chivalry. 



IV 

"Keep Thou my broken sword 

All the long night through 
While I keep watch and ward! 
Then — the red fight through, 
Bless the wrenched haft for me, 
Christ, King of Chivalry. 



"Keep, in thy pierced hands, 

Still the bruised helmet: 
Let not their hostile bands 

Wholly o'erwhelm it! 
Bless my poor shield for me, 
Christ, King of Chivalry. 



VI 

"Keep Thou the sullied mail, 

Lord, that I tender 
Here, at Thine altar-rail ! 

Then — let Thy splendour 
Touch it once . . . and I go 
Stainless to meet the foe." 
[Shadow-of-a-Leaf rises to his feet and takes a step towards the 
minstrel.] 

[Curtain.] 



218 SHERWOOD 

ACT IV 

Scene I. Garden of the King's Palace. Enter John and 
Elinor. 

ELINOR 
You will be king the sooner! Not a month 
In England, and my good son Lion-Heart 
Must wander over-seas again. These two, 
Huntingdon and his bride, must bless the star 
Of errant knighthood. 

JOHN 
He stayed just long enough 
To let them pass one fearless honeymoon 
In the broad sunlight of his royal favour, 
Then, like a meteor off goes great King Richard, 
And leaves them but the shadow of his name 
To shelter them from my revenge. They know it! 
I have seen her shiver like a startled fawn 
And draw him closer, damn him, as I passed. 

ELINOR 

They would have flitted to the woods again 
But for my Lord Fitzwalter. 

JOHN 

That old fool 
Has wits enough to know I shall be king, 
And for his land's sake cheats himself to play 
Sir Pandarus of Troy. '"Tis wrong, dear daughter. 
To think such evil." Pah, he makes me sick! 

ELINOR 

Better to laugh. He is useful. 



JOHN 

If Richard were to perish over-seas! 
I'd — 



If I were king! 



SHERWOOD 219 

ELINOR 
You'd be king the sooner. Never fear: 
These wandering meteors flash into their graves 
Like lightning, and no thunder follows them 
To warn their foolish henchmen. 

JOHN 

[Looking at her searchingly.] 

Shall I risk 
The King's return? 

ELINOR 

What do you mean? 

JOHN 

I mean 

I cannot wait and watch this Robin Hood 

Dangle the fruit of Tantalus before me, 

Then eat it in my sight! I have borne enough! 

He gave me like a fairing to my brother 

In Sherwood Forest; and I now must watch him, 

A happy bridegroom with the happy bride, 

Whose lips I meant for mine. 

ELINOR 

And do you think 

I love to see it? 

JOHN 

Had it not been for you 
He would have died ere this! 

ELINOR 

Then let him die! 

JOHN 
Oh, ay, but do you mean it, mother? 

ELINOR 

God, 
I hate him, hate him! 



220 SHERWOOD 

JOHN 

Mother, he goes at noon 
To Sherwood Forest, with a bag of gold 
For some of his old followers. If, by chance 
He fall — how saith the Scripture? — among thieves 
And vanish — is not heard of any more, 
I think Suspicion scarce could lift her head 
Among these roses here to hiss at me, 
When Lion-Heart returns. 

ELINOR 

Vanish? 

JOHN 

I would not 
Kill him too quickly. I would have him taken 
To a dungeon that I know. 

ELINOR 

You have laid your trap 
Already? Tell me. You need not be afraid ! 
I saw them kiss, in the garden, yesternight; 
And I have wondered, ever since, if fire 
Could make a brand quite hot enough to stamp 
My hate upon him. 

JOHN 

Well, then, I wiU tell you — 
The plan is laid; and, if his bag of gold 
Rejoice one serf to-day, then I'll resign 
Maid Marian to his loving arms for ever. 
But you must help me, mother, or she'll suspect. 
Do not let slip your mask of friendliness, 
As I have feared. Look — there our lovers come 
Beneath that arch of roses. Look, look, mother, 
They are taking leave of one another now, 
A ghastly parting, for he will be gone 
Well nigh four hours, they think. To look at them, 
One might suppose they knew it was for ever. 



SHERWOOD 221 

ELINOR 

Come, or my hate will show itself in my face: 
I must not see them. 

[Exeunt Prince and Eunor. A paicse. Enter Robin Hood 
and Marian.] 

ROBIN 

So, good-bye, once more, 



Sweetheart. 



MARIAN 



Four hours; how shall I pass the time? 
Four hours, four ages, you will scarce be home 
By dusk; how shall I pass it? 

ROBIN 

You've to think 
What robe to wear at the great masque to-night 
And then to don it. When you've done all that 
I shall be home again. 

MARIAN 

What, not before? 

ROBIN 

That's not xmlikely, either. 

MARIAN 
^ Now you mock me, 

But you'll be back before the masque begins. 

ROBIN 
I warrant you I will. 

MARIAN 

It is a month 
To-day since we were married. Did you know it? 
Fie, I believe you had forgotten, Robin. 



222 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

I had, almost. If marriage make the moons 
Fly, as this month has flown, we shall be old 
And grey in our graves before we know it. 
I wish that we could chain old Father Time. 

MARIAN 

And break his glass into ten thousand pieces. 

ROBIN 

And drown his cruel scythe ten fathom deep, 
Under the bright blue sea whence Love was boms 

MARIAN 

Ah, but we have not parted all this month 
More than a garden's breadth, an arrow's flight: 
Time will be dead till you come back again. 
Four hours of absence make four centuries! 
Do you remember how the song goes, Robin, 
That bids true lovers not to grieve at parting 
Often? for Nature gently severs them thus. 
Training them up with kind and tender art, 
For the great day when they must part for ever. 

ROBIN 
Do you believe it, Marian? 

MARIAN 

No; for love 
Buried beneath the dust of life and death, 
Would wait for centuries of centuries, 
Ages of ages, until God remembered, 
And, through that perishing cloud-wrack, face looked up 
Once more to loving face. 

ROBIN 

Your hope — and mine! 
Is not a man's poor memory, indeed, 
A daily resurrection? Your hope — and mine! 



SHERWOOD 223 

MARIAN 
And all the world's at heart! I do believe it. 

ROBIN 

And I — if only that so many souls 

Like yours have died believing they should meet 

Again, lovers and children, little children! 

God will not break that trust. I have found my heaven 

Again in you; and, though I stumble still, 

Your small hand leads me thro' the darkness, up 

And onward, to the heights I dared not see, 

And dare not even now; but my head bows 

Above your face; I see them in your eyes. 

Love, point me onward still! 

[He takes her in his arms.] 

Good-bye! Good-bye! 

MARIAN 
Come back, come back, before the masque begins! 

ROBIN 

Ay, or a little later — never fear: 
You'll not so easily lose me. 

MARIAN 

I shall count 

ROBIN 
Why, you're trembling! 

MARIAN 

Yes, I am foolish. 

This is the first small parting we have had; 
But — you'll be back ere dusk? 



The minutes! 



224 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 
[Laitghing.] 

Ah, do you think 
That chains of steel could hold me, sweet, from you, 
With those two heavenly eyes to call me home. 
Those lips to welcome me? Good-bye! 

MARIAN 

Good-bye! 
[He goes hurriedly out. She looks after him for a moment, then 

suddenly calls.] 
Robin! Ah, well, no matter now — too late! 
[She stands looking after him.] 



Scene II. Sherwood Forest: dusk. Outside the cave, as in the 
second act. Shadow-of-a-Leap runs quickly across 
the glade, followed by Puck. 

PUCK 

Shadow-of-a-Leaf! Shadow-of-a-Leaf! Shadow-of-a-LeafI 

Don't dance away like that; don't hop; don't skip 

Like that, I tell you! I'll never do it again, 

I promise. Don't be silly now! Come here; 

I want to tell you something. Ah, that's right. 

Come, sit down here upon this bank of thyme 

"While I thine amiable ears" — Oh, no, 

Forgive me, ha! ha! ha! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Now, Master Puck, 
You'll kindly keep your word ! A foxglove spray 
In the right hand is deadlier than the sword 
That mortals use, and one resounding thwack 
Applied to your slim fairy hood's green limbs 
Will make it painful, painful, very painful. 
Next time your worship wishes to sit down 
Cross-legged upon a mushroom. 



SHERWOOD 225 

PUCK 

Ha! ha! ha! 
Poor Shadow-of-a-Leaf! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

You keep your word, that's all! 

PUCK 
Haven't I kept my word? Wasn't it I 
That made you what these poor, dull mortals call 
Crazy? Who crowned you with the cap and bells? 
Who made you such a hopeless, glorious fool 
That wise men are afraid of every word 
You utter? Wasn't it I that made you free 
Of fairyland — that showed you how to pluck 
Fern-seed by moonlight, and to walk and talk 
Between the lights, with urchins and with elves? 
Is there another fool twixt earth and heaven 
Like you — ungrateful rogue — answer me that! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
All true, dear gossip, and for saving me 
From the poor game of blind man's buff men call 
Wisdom, I thank you; but to hang and buzz 
Like a mad dragon-fly, now on my nose, 
Now on my neck, now singing in my ears, 
Is that to make me free of fairyland? 
No — that's enough to make the poor fool mad 
And take to human wisdom. 

PUCK 

Yet you love me, 
Ha! ha! — you love me more than all the rest. 
You can't deny it! You can't deny it! Ha! hat 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

I won't deny it, gossip. E'en as I think 
There must be something loves us creatures, Puck, 
More than the Churchmen say. We are so teased 
With thorns, bullied with briars, baffled with stars. 

15 



226 SHERWOOD 

I've lain sometimes and laughed until I cried 
To see the round moon rising o'er these trees 
With that same foolish face of heavenly mirth 
Winking at lovers in the blue-bell glade. 



PUCK 

Lovers! Ha! ha! I caught a pair of 'em 
Last night, behind the ruined chapel! Lovers! 

Lord, these mortals, they'll be the death of me! 
Hist, who comes here? 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Scarlet and Little John, 
And all the merry men — not half so merry 
Since Robin went away. He was to come 
And judge between the rich and poor to-day, 

1 think he has forgotten. 

PUCK 

Hist, let me hide 
Behind this hawthorn bush till they are gone. 
[Enter the Foresters — the7j oil go into the cave except Scarlet 

and Little John, who stand at the entrance, loohing 

anxiously hack.] 

LITTLE JOHN 

I have never known the time when Robin Hood 
Said "I will surely come," and hath not been 
Punctual as yonder evening star. 



SCARLET 

Pray God 
No harm hath fallen him. Indeed he said, 
"Count on my coming." 



SHERWOOD 227 

LITTLE JOHN 

I'll sound yet one more call. 
They say these Courts will spoil a forester. 
It may be he has missed the way. I'd give 
My sword-hand just to hear his jolly bugle 
Answer me. 
[He blows a forest coil. They listen. All is silent.] 

SCARLET 
Silence — only the sough of leaves! 

LITTLE JOHN 
Well, I'm for sleep : the moon is not so bright 
Since Robin left us. 

SCARLET 

Ha! Shadow-of-a-Leaf, alone? 
I thought I heard thy voice. 

LITTLE JOHN 

Oh, he will talk 
With ferns and flowers and whisper to the mice! 
Perfectly happy, art thou not, dear fool? 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
Perfectly happy since I lost my wits! 

SCARLET 
Pray that thou never dost regain them, then, 
Shadow-of-a-Leaf. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

I thank you kindlj"-, sir, 
And pray that you may quicldy lose your own, 
And so be happy, too. Robin's away, 
But, if you'd lost your wits, you would not grieve. 

SCARLET 
Good-night, good fool. 



228 ' SHERWOOD 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

I will not say "Good-night, " 
Wise man, for I am crazed, and so I know 
'Tis good, and yet you'll grieve. I "wish you both 
A bad night that will tease your wits away 
And make you happy. 
The Outlaws enter the cave. Shadow-of-a-Leaf beckons to 
Puck, who steals out again.] 

PUCK 

Shadow-of-a-Leaf, some change 
Is creeping o'er the forest. I myself 
Scarce laugh so much since Robin went away! 
Oh, my head hangs as heavily as a violet 
Brimmed with the rain. Shadow-of-a-Leaf, a cloud, 
A whisper steals across this listening wood! 
I am growing afraid. Dear fool, I am thy Puck, 
But I am growing afraid there comes an end 
To all our Sherwood revels, and I shall never 
Tease thee again. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
Here comes the King! 

[Enter Oberon.] 

Hail, Oberon. 
King of the fairies, I strew ferns before you. 
There are no palms here: ferns do just as well! 

OBERON 
Shadow-of-a-Leaf, our battles all are wasted; 
Our fairy dreams whereby we strove to warn 
Robin and Marian, wasted. Shadow-of-a-Leaf, 
^ Dear Robin Hood, the lover of the poor, 
And kind Maid Marian, our forest queen, 
Are in the toils at last! 

[He pauses.] 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Speak, speak! 



SHERWOOD 229 

OBERON 



Hath trapped and taken Robin. 



Prince John 



SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Is not Richard 
King of this England? Did not Richard tempt 
Robin, for Marian's sake, to leave the forest? 
Did he not swear upon the Holy Cross 
That Robin should be Earl of Huntingdon 
And hold his lands in safety? 

OBERON 

Only fear 
Of Richard held the wicked Prince in leash. 
But Richard roamed abroad again. Prince John 
Would murder Robin secretly. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Wise men 
Fight too much for these holy sepulchres! 
Are not the living images of God 
Better than empty graves? 

OBERON 

One grave is filled 
Now; for our fairy couriers have brought 
Tidings that Richard Lion-Heart is dead. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Dead? 

OBERON 
Dead! In a few brief hours the news will reach 
The wicked Prince. He will be King of England, 
With Marian in his power! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

No way to save them ? 



230 SHERWOOD 

OBERON 

We cannot break our fairy vows of silence. 

A mortal, Shadow-of-a-Leaf, can break those vows, 

But only on pain of death. 

SHAD W-OF-A-LE AF 

Oberon, I, 
Shadow-of-a-Leaf, the fool, must break my vows! 
I must save Robin Hood that he may save 
Marian from worse than death. 

OBERON 

Shadow-of-a-Leaf, 
Think what death means to you, never to join 
Our happy sports again, never to see 
The moonlight streaming through these ancient oaks 
Again, never to pass the fairy gates 
Again. We cannot help it. They will close 
Like iron in your face, and you will hear 
Our happy songs within; but you will lie 
Alone, without, dying, and never a word 
To comfort you, no hand to touch your brow. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

So be it. I shall see them entering in! 
The time is brief. Quick, tell me, where is Robin? 
Quick, or the news that makes Prince John a king 
Will ruin all. 

OBERON 

Robin is even now 
Thrust in the great dark tower beyond the wood, 
The topmost cell where foot can never climb. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Cannot an arrow reach it? Ay, be swift; 
Come, lead me thither. 



SHERWOOD 231 

OBERON 

I cannot disobey 
The word that kills the seed to raise the wheat, 
The word that — Shadow-of-a-Leaf, I think I know 
Now, why great kings ride out to the Crusade. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Quickly, come, quickly! 

[Exeunt Oberon and Shadow-of-a-Leaf. Puck remains 
staring after them, then vanishes with a sob, between 
the trees. Little John and Scarlet appear once 
more at the mouth of the cave.] 

SCARLET 

I thought I heard a voice. 

LITTLE JOHN 

'Twas only Shadow-of-a-Leaf again. He talks 
For hours among the ferns, plays with the flowers, 
And whispers to the mice, perfectly happy! 

SCARLET 

I cannot rest for thinking that some harm 
Hath chanced to Robin. Call him yet once more. 
[Little John blows his bugle. All is silent. They stand 
listening.] 

Scene III. A gloomy cell. Robin bound. Prince John 
and two mercenaries. A low narrow door in the 
background, small barred window on the left. 

PRINCE JOHN 

\To the Mercenaries.] 
Leave us a moment. I have private matters 
To lay before this friend of all the poor. 
You may begin to build the door up now, 
So that you do not wall me in with him. 

{The two men begin filling up the doorway with rude blocks of 
masonry.] 



232 SHERWOOD 

So now, my good green foot-pad, you are trapped 
At last, trapped in the practice of your trade! 
Trapped, as you took your stolen Norman gold 
To what was it — a widow, or Saxon serf 
With eye put out for breaking forest laws? 
You hold with them, it seems. Your dainty soul 
Sickens at our gross penalties; and so 
We'U not inflict them on your noble seK, 
Although we have the power. There's not a soul 
Can ever tell where Robin Hood is gone. 
These walls will never echo it. ■ 

[He taps the wall with his sword.] 
And yet 
There surely must be finer ways to torture 
So fine a soul as yours. Was it not you 
Who gave me like a fairing to my brother 
With lofty condescension in your eyes; 
And shall I call my mercenaries in 
And bid them burn your eyes out with hot irons? 
Richard is gone — he'll never hear of it! 
An Earl that plays the robber disappears, 
That's all. Most like he died in some low scuflSe 
Out in the greenwood. I am half inclined 
To call for red-hot irons after all. 
So that your sympathy with Saxon churls 
May be more deep, you understand; and then 
It would be sweet for you, alone and blind. 
To know that you could never in this life 
See Marian's face again. But no — that's bad, 
Bad art to put hope's eyes out. It destroys 
Half a man's fear to rob him of his hope. 
No; you shall drink the dregs of it. Hope shall die 
More exquisite a death. Robin, my friend. 
You understand that, when I quit your presence, 
This bare blank cell becomes your living tomb. 
Do you not comprehend? It's none so hard. 
The doorway will be built up. There will be 
No door, you understand, but just a waU, 
Some six feet thick, of solid masonry. 
Nobody will disturb you, even to bring 
Water or food. You'll starve — see — ^like a rat, 



SHERWOOD 233 

Bricked up and buried. But you'll have time to think 
Of how I tread a measure at the masque 
To-night, with Marian, while her wide eyes wonder 
Where Robin is — and old Fitzwalter smiles 
And bids his girl be gracious to the Prince 
For his land's sake. Ah, ha! you wince at that! 
Will you not speak a word before I go? 
Speak, damn you! 

[He strikes Robin across the face with his glove. Robin remains 

silent.] 
Six days hence, if you keep watch 
At yonder window (you'll be hungry then) 
You may catch sight of Marian and Prince John 
Wandering into the gardens down below. 
You will be hungry then; perhaps you'll strive 
To call to us, or stretch a meagre arm 
Through those strong bars; but then you know the height 
Is very great — no voice can reach to the earth: 
This is the topmost cell in my Dark Tower. 
Men look like ants below there. I shall say 
To Marian, See that creature waving there 
High up above us, level with the clouds, 
Is it not like a winter-shrivelled fly? 
And she wiU laugh; and I will pluck her roses. 
And then — and then — there are a hundred v/ays, 
You know, to touch a woman's blood with thoughts 
Beyond its lawful limits. Ha! ha! ha! 
By God, you almost spoke to me, I think. 
Touches at twilight, whispers in the dark, 
Sweet sympathetic murmurs o'er the loss 
Of her so thoughtless Robin, do you think 
Maid Marian will be quite so hard to win 
When princes come to woo? There wiU be none 
To interrupt us then. Time will be mine 
To practise all the amorous arts of Ovid, 
And, at the last — 

ROBIN 

Will you not free my hands? 
You have your sword. But I would like to fight you 
Here, with my naked hands. I want no more. 



234 SHERWOOD 

PRINCE JOHN 

Ha! ha! At last the sullen speaks. 

That's all 
I wanted. I have struck you in the face. 
Is't not enough? You can't repay that blow. 

ROBIN 

Bury me down in hell and I'll repay it 
The day you die, across your lying mouth 
That spoke of my true lady, I will repay it, 
Before the face of God! 

PRINCE JOHN 

[Laughing.] 
Meanwhile, for me 

Till you repay that blow, there is the mouth 

Of Marian, the sweet honey-making mouth 

That shall forestall your phantom blow Vv'ith balm. 

Oh, you'll go mad too soon if I delay. 

I am glad you spoke. Farewell, the masons wait. 

And I must not be late for Marian. 

[Exit thro' the small aperture now left in the doorway. It 
is rapidly closed and sounds of heavy masonry being 
piled against it are heard. Robin tries to free his 
hands and after an effort, succeeds. He hurls him- 
self against the doorway, and finds it hopeless. He 
turns to the window, peers through it for a moment, then 
suddenly unvdnds a scarf from his neck, ties it to one 
of the bars and stands to one side.] 

ROBIN 

Too high a shot for most of my good bowmen! 
What's that? A miss? 

[He looks thro' the window.] 

Good lad, he'll try again! 
[He stands at the side once more and an arrow comes thro' the 

udndow.] 
Why. that's like magic ! 

[He pulls up the thread attached to it.] 



SHERWOOD 235 

Softly, or 'twill break! — 
Ah, now 'tis sturdy cord. 

— I'll make it fast. 
But, how to break these bars! 

St. Nicholas, 
There's someone climbing. He must have a head 
Of iron, and the lightness of a cat! 
Downward is bad enough, but up is more 
Than mortal! Who the devil can it be? 
Thank God, it's growing dark. But what a risk! 
None of my merry men could e'en attempt it. 
I'm very sure it can't be Little John. 
What, Shadow-of-a-Leaf! 

[Shadow-of-a-Leaf appears at the window.] 

'Fore God, dear faithful fool, 
I am glad to see you. 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Softly, gossip, softly, 
Pull up the rope a little until we break 
This bar away — or some kind friend may see 
The dangling end below. Now here's a toothpick, 
Six inches of grey steel, for you to work with, 
And here's another for me. Pick out the mortar! 

[They work to loosen the bars.] 
Wait! Here's a rose I brought you in my cap 
And here's a spray of fern! Old Nature's keys 
Open all prisons, I'll throw them in for luck, 
[He throws them into the cell and begins working feverishly again.] 
So that the princes of the world may know 
The forest let you out. Down there on earth, 
If any sees me, they will only think 
The creepers are in leaf. Pick out the mortar! 
That's how the greenwood works. You know, 'twill thruso 
Its tendrils through these big grey stones one day 
And pull them down. I noticed in the courtyard 
The grass is creeping though the crevices 
Already, and yellow dandelions crouch 
In all the crumbling corners. Pick it out! 
This is a very righteous work indeed 



236 SHERWOOD 

For men in Lincoln green; for what are we 
But tendrils of old Nature, herald sprays! 
We scarce anticipate. Pick the mortar out. 
Quick, there's no time to lose, although to-night 
We're in advance of sun and moon and stars 
And all the trickling sands in Time's turned glass. 

[With a sudden cry.] 
Richard is dead! 

ROBIN 

Richard is dead! The King 



Is dead! 



SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 



Ah, dead! Come, pick the mortar out. 
Out of the walls of towers and shrines and tombs! 
For now Prince John is King, and Lady Marian 
In peril, gossip! Yet we are in advance 
Of sun and moon to-night, for sweet Prince John 
Is not aware yet of his kinglihood, 
Or of his brother's death. 

ROBIN 

[Pausing a moment.] 

Why, Shadow-of-a-Leaf^ 
What does this mean? 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Come, pick the mortar out; 
You have no time to lose. This very night 
My Lady Marian must away to Sherwood. 
At any moment the dread word may come 
That makes John King of England. Quick, be quickl 

ROBIN 

She is at the masque to-night! 



SHERWOOD 237 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

Then you must mask 
And fetch her thence! Ah, ha, the bar works loose. 
Pull it! 

[They pull at the bar, get it free, and throw it into the cell.] 
Now, master, follow me down the rope. 
[Exit Robin thro' tlie window.] 



Scene IV. Night. The garden of the King's palace {as 
before), but lighted with torches for the masque. 
Music swells up and dies away continually. Maskers 
pass to and fro between the palace and the garden. 
On the broad terrace in front some of them are dancing 
a galliard. 

[Prince John enters and is met by Queen Elinor, neither of 
them masked.] 

ELINOR 

AU safe? 

PRINCE JOHN 

Ay, buried and bricked up now, to think 
Alone, in the black night, of all I told him. 
Thank God, we have heard the last of Robin Hood. 

ELINOR 

[She pids on her mask.] 

PRINCE JOHN 



You are sure? 



I saw him entombed with my own eyes! 
Six feet of solid masonry. Look there. 
There's the young knight you've lately made your own. 
Where is my Lady Marian? Ah, I see her! 
With that old hypocrite, Fitzwalter. 

[They part. Prince John puts on his mask as he goes. 



238 SHERWOOD 

A LADY 

But tell me 
Where is Prince John? 

A MASKER 

That burly-shouldered man 
By yonder pillar, talking with old Fitzwalter, 
And the masked girl, in green, with red-gold hair, 
Is Lady Marian! 

THE LADY 

Where is Robin Hood? 
I have never seen him, but from all one hears 
He is a wood-god and a young Apollo, 
And a more chaste Actseon all in one. 

MASKER 

Oh, ay, he never watched Diana bathing, 
Or, if he did, all Sherwood winked at it. 
Who knows? Do you believe a man and maid 
Can sleep out in the woods all night, as these 
Have slept a hundred times, and put to shame 
Our first poor parents; throw the apple aside 
And float out of their leafy Paradise 
Like angels? 

LADY 

No; I fear the forest boughs 
Could tell sad tales. Oh, I imagine it — 
Married to Robin, by a fat hedge-priest 
Under an altar of hawthorn, with a choir 
Of sparrows, and a spray of cuckoo-spit 
For holy water! Oh, the modest chime 
Of blue-bells from a fairy belfry, a veil 
Of evening mist, a robe of golden hair; 
A blade of grass for a ring; a band of thieves 
In Lincoln green to witness the sweet bans; 
A glow-worm for a nuptial taper, a bed 
Of rose-leaves, and wild thyme and wood-doves' down. 



SHERWOOD 239 

Quick! Draw the bridal curtains — three tall ferns — 
Across the cave mouth, lest a star should peep 
And make the wild rose leap into her face! 
Pish! A bweet maid! But where is Robin Hood? 

MASKER 

I know not; but he'd better have a care 

Of Mistress Marian. If I know Prince John 

He has marked her for his own. 

LADY 

I cannot see 
What fascinates him. 

MASKER 

No, you are right, nor I. 

PRINCE JOHN 

Come, Lady Marian, let me lead you out 
To tread a measure. 

MARIAN 

Pray, sir, pardon me! 



I am tired. 



FITZWALTER 



[Whispering angrily to her.] 

Now, Marian, be not so ungracious. 
You both abuse him and disparage us. 
His courtiers led the ladies they did choose. 
Do not displease him, girl. I pray you, go! 
Dance out your galliard. God's dear holy-bread, 
Y'are too forgetful. Dance, or by my troth, 
You'll move my patience. I say you do us wrong. 

MARIAN 

I will do what you will. Lead, lead your dance. 
[Exeunt John and Marian.'] 



240 SHERWOOD 

FIRST MASKER 

[To a lady, as they come up from the garden.] 
Will you not let me see your face now, sweet? 



LADY 

You hurt my lip with that last kiss of yours. 
Hush, do not lean your face so close, I pray you; 
Loosen my fingers. There's my lord. 

FIRST MASKER 

Where? Where? 
Now, if I know him, I shall know your name! 

LADY 

That tall man with the damozel in red. 

FIRST MASKER 

Oh, never fear him. He, too, wore a mask! 
I saw them — 

[They pass out talking.] 

SECOND MASKER 

[Looking after them.] 
Saw you those two turtle-doves! 



SECOND LADY 



Yes. 



SECOND MASKER 

Come with me, I'll show you where I caught them 

Among the roses, half an hour ago. 

[They laugh and exeunt into the gardens. The music sivells up 
and more dancers appear.] 

[Enter Robin Hood, still in his forester's garb, but wearing a 
mask. He walks as if wounded and in pain. He 
sits down in the shadow of a pillar watching, and 
partly concealed from the throng.] 



SHERWOOD 241 

THIRD LADY 

Remember now to say you did not see me 
Here at the masque. 

THIRD MASKER 
Or shall I say that I 
Was out in Palestine? 

[They pass. Enter little Arthur Plantagenet. He comes 
up to Robin Hood.] 

ARTHUR 
Are you not Robin Hood? 

ROBIN 
Hush, Arthur. Don't you see I wear a mask 
Like all the rest to-night? 

ARTHUR 

Why do they wear 
Masks? 

ROBIN 

They must always wear some sort of mask 
At court. Sometimes they wear them all their lives. 

ARTHUR 
You are jesting, Robin. Now I wanted you 
To tell me tales of Sherwood. Tell me how 
You saved Will Scarlet. 

ROBIN 

Why, I've told you that 
A score of times. 

ARTHUR 
I know, I want to hear it 
Again. Well, tell me of that afternoon 
When Lion-Heart came home from the Crusade. 
I have often thought of that. It must have been 
Splendid! You weren't expecting it at all? 

16 



242 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

No, not at all; but, Arthur, tell me first 
Have you seen Lady Marian? 

ARTHUR 

Yes, I saw her 
Treading a measure with my Uncle John! 

ROBIN 

Stand where you are and watch; and, if you see her, 
Beckon her. Then I'll tell you how the King 
Came home from the Crusade. 

ARTHUR 

First, let me tell you 
Just how I think it was. It must have been 
Like a great picture. All your outlaws there 
Sitting around your throne of turf, and you 
Judging the rich and poor. That's how it was 
Last night, I dreamed of it; and you were taking 
The baron's gold and giving it to the halt 
And blind; and then there was a great big light 
Between the trees, as if a star had come 
Down to the earth and caught among the boughs, 
With beams like big soft swords amongst the ferns 
And leaves, and through the light a mighty steed 
Stepped, and the King came home from the Crusade. 
Was it like that? Was there a shining light? 

ROBIN 
I think there must have been, a blinding light. 

ARTHUR 
Filling an arch of leaves? 

ROBIN 

Yesl 



SHERWOOD 243 

ARTHUR 

That was it! 
That's how the King came home from the Crusade. 

ROBIN 
But there — you've told the story! 

ARTHUR 

Ah, not all! 

ROBIN 

No, not quite all. What's that? 

[The tmisic suddenly stops. The maskers crowd together whisper^ 
ing excitedly.] 

ARTHUR 

Why have they stopped 
The music? Ah, there's Hubert. Shall I ask him? 

ROBIN 

Yes, quickly, and come back! 

[Arthur runs up to a masker. Several go by hurriedly.] 

FIRST MASKER 

The King is dead! 

SECOND MASKER 
Where did it happen? France? 

FIRST MASKER 

I know not, sir! 

[Arthur returns.] 

ARTHUR 

Robin, they say the King is dead! So John 
Is king now, is he not? 



244 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

Ay, John is king! 
Now, tell me quickly, use your eyes, my boy, 
Where's Lady Marian? 

ARTHUR 

Ah, there she is at last, 
Alone! 

ROBIN 
Go to her quickly, and bring her hither. 

[Arthur runs off and returns with Marian.] 

MARIAN 
Robin, thank God, you have returned. I feared — 

ROBIN 

No more, dear heart, you must away to Sherwood! 
Shadow-of-a-Leaf is waiting by the orchard 
With your white palfrey. Away, or the new king 
Will hunt us down. I'll try to gain you time. 
Go — quickly! 

MARIAN 

Robin, your face is white, you are wounded! 
What's this — there's blood upon your doublet! 
Robin! 

ROBIN 
Nothing! Go, quickly! 

MARIAN 

Robin, I cannot leave you. 

ROBIN 
Go, Marian. If you ever loved me, go. 

MARIAN 
You'll follow? 



SHERWOOD 245 

ROBIN 
Oh, with my last breath I will, 
God helping me; but I must gain you time! 
Quickly! Plere comes the King! 

MARIAN 

Oh, follow soon! 

[Exit] 
[Robin sits down again, steadying himself against the pillar. 
John appears at the doors of the palace, above the terrace, a 
scroll in his hand.] 

JOHN 
My friends, the King is dead! 

MASKERS 
[Talcing off their masks, with a cry.] 

Long live King John! 

JOHN 

[Coming down amongst them.] 
Our masque is ended by this grievous news; 
But where's my Lady Marian? I had some word 
To speak with her! Not here! Why — 

ROBIN 

[Still masked, rises and confronts the King, who stares at him and 
shrinks back a little.] 

All the masks 
Are off, sire! No, perhaps they wear them still. 

JOHN 

Who is this? 

ROBIN 

One that was dead and lives. You say 
Your brother, the great King, is dead. Oh, sire. 
If that be so, you'll hear a dead man speak, 



246 SHERWOOD 

For your dead brother's sake. You say the King 
Is dead; but you are king. So the King lives! 
You are King of England now from sea to sea, 
Is it not so? Shout, maskers, once again. 
Long live the King! 

MASKERS 
Long live the KingI 

ROBIN 

You see 

What power is yours! Your smile is life, your frown 

Death. At a word from you the solid earth 

Would shake with tramp of armies. You can call 

Thousands to throw away their lives like straws 

Upon your side, if any foreign king 

Dare to affront you. 

[He draws nearer to John, who still shrinks a little, as if in fear.] 

Richard, you say, is dead. 

And yet, O King, I say that the great King 

Lives! 

[He strikes John across the face. John cowers and staggers 
back. The Maskers draw their swords, the women 
scream and rush together. Robin turns, sword in hand, 
to confront the Maskers.] 

Back, fools; for I say that the great King 

Lives. Do not doubt it. Ye have dreamed him dead 

How often. Hark, God in heaven, ye know that voice. 

[A voice is heard drawing nearer thro' the distant darkness of the 
garden, singing. All listen. John's face whitens.] 

[Song.] 

Knight, on the narrow way, 

Where wouldst thou ride? 
"Onward," I heard him say, 

"Love, to thy side.'' 

ROBIN 

'Tis Blondel! Still vaunt-courier to the King, 
As when he burst the bonds of Austria! Listen! 



SHERWOOD 247 

[Song nearer.] 
"Nay," sang a bird above, 

"Stay, for I see 
Death, in the mask of love, 
Waiting for thee." 

MASKERS 

[Resuming their masks and muttering to one another.] 
Can the King live? Is this John's treachery? Look, 
He is crushed with fear! 

ROBIN 

Listen! I'll go to meet him. 
[Exit into the garden.] 

MASKERS 

It was the song of Blondel! The same song 
He made with Richard, long since! — 

Blondel's voice! 
Just as we heard it on that summer's night 
When Lion-Heart came home from the Crusade. 

[The Song still drawing nearer.] 
"Death! What is Death?" he cried. 

"I must ride on, 
On to my true love's side. 
Up to her throne!" 
[Enter Blondel, from the garden. He stands, startled by the 
scene before him.] 

MASKERS 
Blondel! Where is the King? Where is the King? 

BLONDEL 
Did ye not know? — Richard, the King, is dead! 

MASKERS 
Dead! 



248 SHERWOOD 

JOHN 

Dead! And ye let the living dog escape 
That dared snarl at our sovereignty. I know him, 
Risen from the dead or not. I know 'twas he, 
'Twas Robin Hood! After him; hunt him down! 
Let him not live to greet another sun. 
After him! 

MASKERS 

[Drawing their swords and plunging into the darkness.] 
After him; hunt the villain down! 

[Curtain.] 



ACT V 

Scene I. Morning. Sherwood Forest (as before). 

Little John and some of the Outlaws are gathered 
together talking. Occasionally they look anxiously 
toward the cave and at the approaches through the wood. 
Enter two Foresters, running and breathless. 

FIRST FORESTER 

The King's men! They are scouring thro' the wood, 
Two troops of them, five hundred men in each 
And more are following. 

SECOND FORESTER 
We must away from here 

LITTLE JOHN 

Where did you sight them? 

SECOND FORESTER 



And quickly. 



From the old elm, 
Our watch-tower. They were not five miles away! 



SHERWOOD 249 

FIRST FORESTER 

Five, about five. We saw the sunlight flash 
Along, at least five hundred men at arms; 
And, to the north, along another line, 
Bigger, I think; but not so near. 

SECOND FORESTER 

Where's Robin? 
We must away at once! 

FIRST FORESTER 

No time to lose! 

LITTLE JOHN 

His wound is bitter — I know not if we dare 
Move him! 

FIRST FORESTER 
His wound? 

LITTLE JOHN 

Ay, some damned arrow pierced him 
When he escaped last night from the Dark Tower. 
He never spoke of it when first he reached us; 
And, suddenly, he swooned. He is asleep 
Now. He must not be wakened. They will take 
Some time yet ere they thread our forest-maze. 

FIRST FORESTER 

Not long, by God, not long. They are moving fast. 
[Marian appears at the mouth of the cave. All turn to look at 
her, expectantly. She seeyns in distress.] 

MARIAN 

He is tossing to and fro. I think his wound 
Has taken fever! What can we do? 



250 SHERWOOD 

FRIAR TUCK 

I've sent 
A messenger to Kirklee Priory, 
Where my old friend the Prioress hath store 
Of balms and simples, and hath often helped 
A wounded forester. Could we take him there, 
Her skill would quickly heal him. 

LITTLE JOHN 

The time is pressing! 

FRIAR TUCK 

The lad will not be long! 

[Robin appears tottering and white at the moxdh of the cave.] 

MARIAN 
\Runni71g to him.] 

Robin, Robin, 
You must not rise! Your wound! 

ROBIN 

[He speaks feverishly.] 

Where can I rest 
Better than on my greenwood throne of turf? 
Friar, I heard them say they had some prisoners. 
Bring them before me. 

FRIAR TUCK 

Master, you are fevered. 
And they can wait. 

ROBIN 

Yes, yes; but there are some 
That cannot wait, that die for want of food, 
And then — the Norman gold will come too late. 
Too late. 

LITTLE JOHN 
master, you must rest. 
[Going up to him.] 



SHERWOOD 251 

MARIAN 

Oh, help me. 
Help me with him. Help me to lead him back. 

ROBIN 

No! No! You must not touch me! I will rest 
When I have seen the prisoners, not before. 

LITTLE JOHN 

He means it, mistress, better humour him 
Or he will break his wound afresh. 

MARIAN 

Robin, 
Give me your word that you'll go back and rest, 
When you have seen them. 

ROBIN 

Yes, I will try, I will try! 
But oh, the sunlight! Where better, sweet, than this? 
[She leads him to the throne of turf and he sits down upon it, with 

Marian at his side.] 
The Friar ia right. This life is wine, red wine. 
Under the greenwood boughs! Oh, still to keep it, 
One little glen of justice in the midst 
Of multitudinous wrong. Who knows? We yet 
May leaven the whole world. 
[Enter the Outlaws, with several prisoners, among them, a 

Knight, an Abbot, and a Forester.] 

These are the prisoners? 
You had some victims of the forest laws 
That came to you for help. Bring them in, too. 
And set them over against these lords of the earth! 
[Some ragged women and children appear. Several serfs with 

iron collars round their necks and their eyes put outy 

are led gently in.\ 
Is that our Lincoln green among the prisoners? 
There? One of my own band? 



252 SHERWOOD 

LITTLE JOHN 

Ay, more's the pity! 
We took him out of pity, and he has wronged 
Our honour, sir; he has wronged a helpless woman] 
Entrusted to his guidance thro' the forest. 

ROBIN 

Ever the same, the danger comes from those 
We fight for, those below, not those above! 
Which of you will betray me to the King? 

THE FORESTER 
Do you ask me, sir? 

ROBIN 

Judas answered first. 
With '• Master, is it I?" Hang not thy head! 
What say'st thou to this charge? 

THE FORESTER 

Why, Friar Tuck 
Can answer for me. Do you think he cares 
Less for a woman's lips than I? 

FRIAR TUCK 

Cares less, 
Thou rotten radish? Nay, but a vast deal more! 
God's three best gifts to man, — woman and song 
And wine, what dost thou know of all their joy? 
Thou lean pick-purse of kisses? 

ROBIN 

Take him out, 
Friar, and let him pack his goods and go, 
Whither he will. I trust the knave to thee 
And thy good quarter-staff, for some five minutes 
Before he says "Farewell." 



SHERWOOD 253 

FRIAR 

Bring him £tfoug, 
Give him a quarter-staff, I'll thrash him roundly. 
[He goes out. Txoo of the Foresters follow with the prisoner. 
Others bring the Abbot before Robin.] 

ROBIN 
Ah! Ha! I know him, the godly usurer 
Of York! 

LITTLE JOHN 

We saw a woman beg for alms, 
One of the sufferers by the rule which gave 
This portly Norman his fat priory 
And his abundant lands. We heard him say 
That he was helpless, had not one poor coin 
To give her, not a scrap of bread! He wears 
Purple beneath his cloak: his fine sleek palfrey 
Flaunted an Emperor's trappings! 



Must keep her dignity! 



ABBOT 

Man, the Church 



ROBIN 
[Pointing to the poor woman, etc.] 
Ay, look at it! 
There is your dignity! And you must wear 
Silk next your skin to show it. But there was one 
You call your Master, and He had not where 
To lay His head, save one of these same trees! 

ABBOT 
Do you blaspheme! I pray you, let me go! 
There are grave matters waiting. I am poor! 

ROBIN 
Look in his purse and see. 



254 SHERWOOD 

ABBOT 
[Hurriedly.] 

I have five marks 
In all the world, no more. I'll give them to you! 

ROBIN 
Look in his purse and see. 

[They pour a heap of gold out of his purse.] 

ROBIN 

Five marks, indeed! 
Here's, at the least, a hundred marks in gold! 

ABBOT 
That is my fees, my fees; you must not take them! 

ROBIN 

The ancient miracle! — five loaves, two small fishes; 
And then — of what remained — they gathered up 
Twelve basketsfull 

ABBOT 

Oh, you blaspheming villains! 

ROBIN 
Abbot, I chance to know how this was wrought, 
This miracle; wrought with the blood, anguish and sweat 
Of toiling peasants, while the cobwebs clustered 
Around your lordly cellars of red wine. 
Give him his five and let him go. 

ABBOT 

[Going out.] 

The King 
Shall hear of this! The King will hunt you down! 

ROBIN 
And now — the next! 



SHERWOOD 255 

SCARLET 

Beseech you, sir, to rest. 



Your wound will — 

ROBIN 
No! The next, show me the next! 

SCARLET 
This Norman baron — 

ROBIN 

What, another friend I 
Another master of broad territories. 
How many homes were burned to make you lord 
Of half a shire? What hath he in his purse? 

SCARLET 
Gold and to spare! 

. BARON 
To keep up mine estate 



I need much more. 



ROBIN 



I am not rich. 



[Pointing to the poor.] 

Ay, you need these! these! these! 

BARON 

[Protesting.] 



ROBIN 
Look in his purse and see. 

BARON 

You dogs, the King shall hear of it! 



256 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN 

[Munnuring as if to himself.] 

Five loaves! 
And yet, of what remained, they gathered up 
Twelve basketsful. The bread of human kindness 
Goes far! Oh, I begin to see new meanings 
In that old miracle! How much? How much? 

SCARLET 
Five hundred marks in gold! 

ROBIN 
[Half rising and speaking with a sudden passion.] 

His churls are starving, 
Starving! Their little children cry for bread! 
One of those jewels on his baldric there 
Would feed them all in plenty all their lives! 
Five loaves — and yet — and yet — of what remained, 
The fragments, mark you, twelve great basketsful 1 

BARON 
I am in a madman's power! The man is mad! 

ROBIN 
Take all he has, all you can get. To-night, 
When all is dark (we must have darkness, mind. 
For deeds like this) blind creatures will creep out ' 
With groping hands and gaping mouths, lean arms, 
And shrivelled bodies, branded, fettered, lame, 
Distorted, horrible; and they will weep 
Great tears like gouts of blood upon our feet. 
And we shall succour them and make them think 
(That's if you have not mangled their poor souls 
As well, or burned their children with their homes). 
We'll try to make them think that some few roods 
Of earth are not so bitter as hell might be. 
Are you not glad to think of this? Nay — go — 
Or else your face will haunt me when I die! 
Take him quickly away. The next! The next! 
OGod! 

[Flings up his arms and falls fainting.] 



SHERWOOD 257 

MARIAN 

[Bending over Mm.] 
O RobinI Robin! Help him quickly. 

The wound! The wound! 

[They gather round Robin. The Outlaws come back with the 
captive Forester, his pack upon his back.] 

FRIAR TUCK 

[To the Forester.] 
Now, get you gone and quickly! 
What, what hath happened? 

[Friar Tuck and the Outlaws join the throng round Robin. 
The Forester shakes his fist at them and goes across the 
glade m-uttering. The Messenger jrom Kirklee Priory 
comes out of the forest at the same moment and speaks to 
him, not knowing of his dismissal.] 

MESSENGER 

All's well! Robin can come 
To Kirklee. Our old friend the Prioress 
Is there, and faithful! They've all balms and simples 
To heal a wound. 

FORESTER 
[Staring at him.] 
To Kirklee? 

MESSENGER 

Yes, at sunset, 
We'll take him to the borders of the wood 
All will be safe. 
Where he can steal in easily, alone. 

FORESTER 

The King's men are at hand! 

MESSENGER 
Oh, but if we can leave him there, all's safe; -^ 
We'll dodge the King's men. 

17 



258 SHERWOOD 

FORESTER 



When is he to go? 



MESSENGER 

Almost at once; but he must not steal in 
Till sundown, when the nuns are all in chapel. 
How now? What's this? What's this? 

\He goes across to the throng round Robin. 

FORESTER 

[Looking after him.] 
Alone, to Kirklee! 

[Exit.] 



Scene II. A room in Kirklee Priory. A mndow on the right 
overlooks a cloister leading up to the chapel door. The 
forest is seen in the distance, the sun beginning to 
set behind it. The Prioress and a Novice are 
sitting in a window-seat engaged in broidery work. 

NOVICE 
He must be a good man — this Robin Hood! 
I long to see him. Father used to say 
England had known none like him since the dajrs 
Of Hereward the Wake. 

PRIORESS 

He will be here 
By vespers. You shall let him in. Who's that? 
Can that be he? It is not sundown yet. 
See who is there. 

[Exit Novice. She returns excitedly.] 

NOVICE 

A lady asks to see you! 
She is robed like any nun and yet she spoke 
like a great lady — one that is used to rule 



SHERWOOD 259 

More than obey; and on her breast I saw 
A ruby smouldering like a secret fire 
Beneath her cloak. She bade me say she came 
On Robin Hood's behest. 

PRIORESS 

What? Bring her in 
Quickly. 

[Exit Novice and returns with Queen Elinor in a nun 's garb. 
At the sign from the Prioress the Novice retires.] 

ELINOR 
Madam, I come to beg a favoui*. 
I am a friend of Robin Hood. I have heard — 
One of his Foresters, this very noon 
Brought me the news — that he is sorely wounded; 
And purposes to seek your kindly help 
At Kirklee Priory. 

PRIORESS 

Oh, then indeed, 
You must be a great friend, for this was kept 
Most secret from all others. 

ELINOR 

A great friend! 
He was my page some fifteen years ago, 
And all his life I have watched over him 
As if he were my son! I have come to beg 
A favour — ^let me see him when he comes. 
My husband was a soldier, and I am skilled 
In wounds. In Palestine I saved his life 
When every leech despaired of it, a wound 
Caused by a poisoned arrow. 

PRIORESS 

You shall see him. 
I have some skill myself in balms and simples. 
But, in these deadlier matters I would fain 
Trust to your wider knowledge. 



260 SHERWOOD 

ELINOR 

Let me see him alone; 
Alone, you understand. His mind is fevered. 
I have an influence over him. Do not say- 
That I am here, or aught that will excite him. 
Better say nothing — lead him gently in. 
And leave him. In my hands he is like a child. 

PRIORESS 
It shall be done. I see you are subtly versed 
In the poor workings of our mortal minds. 

ELINOR 
I learnt much from a wise old Eastern leech 
When I was out in Palestine. 

PRIORESS 

I have heard 
They have great powers and magic remedies; 
They can restore youth to the withered frame. 

ELINOR 
There is only one thing that they cannot do. 

PRIORESS 
And what? 

ELINOR 
They cannot raise the dead. 

PRIORESS 

Ah, no; 
I am most glad to hear you say it, most glad 
To know we think alike. That is most true — 
Yes — yes — most true; for God alone, dear friend, 
Can raise the dead! 

[A bell begins tolling slowly.] 

The bell for even-songi 
You have not long to wait. 



SHERWOOD 261 

[Shadowy figures of nuns pass the windows and enter the chapel. 

The sunset deepens.] 

Will you not pray 
With me? 
[The Prioress and Queen Elinor kneel down togeth&r before a 

little shrine. Enter the Novice.] 

NOVICE 

There is a forester at the door. 
Mother, I think 'tis he! 

PRIORESS 

[Rising.] 

Admit him, then. 

ELINOR 
Leave me : I will keep praying till he comes. 

PRIORESS 
You are trembling! You are not afraid? 

ELINOR 

[With eyes closed as in strenuous devotion.] 

No; no; 
Leave me, I am but praying! 

[A chant swells up in the chapel. Exit Prioress. Elinor con- 
tinues muttering as in prayer. Enter Robin Hood, 
steadying himself on his bow, weak and white. She 
rises and passes between him and the door to confront 
him.] 

ELINOR 

Ah, Robin, you have come to me at last 
For healing. Pretty Marian cannot help you 
With all her kisses. 



262 SHERWOOD 

ROBIN HOOD 
[Staring at her urildly.] 

You! I did not know 
That you were here. I did not ask your help. 
I must go — Marian! 

[He tries to reach the door, but reels in a half faint on the way. 
Elinor swp'ports him as he 'pauses, panting for breath.] 

ELINOR 

Robin, your heart is hard, 
Both to yourself and me. You cannot go, 
Rejecting the small help which I can give 
As if I were a leper. Ah, come back. 
Are you so unforgiving? God forgives! 
Did you not see me praying for your sake? 
Think, if you think not of yourself, oh, think 
Of Marian — can you leave her clinging arms 
Yet, for the cold grave, Robin? I have risked 
Much, life itself, to bring you help this day! 
I have some skill in wounds. 

[She holds him closer and brings her face near to his own, looh' 
ing into his eyes.\ 

Ah, do you know 
How slowly, how insidiously this death 
Creeps, coil by tightening coil, around a man. 
When he is weak as you are? Do you know 
How the last subtle coil slips round your throat 
And the flat snake-like head lifts up and peers 
With cruel eyes of cold, keen inquisition, 
Rivetting your own, until the blunt mouth sucks 
Your breath out with one long, slow, poisonous kiss? 

ROBIN HOOD 
O God, that nightmare! Leave me! Let me go! 

ELINOR 

You stare at me as if you saw that snake. 

Ha! Ha! Your nerves are shaken; you are so weak! 



SHERWOOD 263 

You cannot go! What! Fainting? Ah, rest here 

Upon this couch. 

[She half supports, half thrusts him back to a couch, in an alcove 

out of sight arid draws a curtain. There is a knock at 

the door.] 

ELINOK 

Who's there? 

PRIORESS 

Madam, I came 
To know if I could help in anything. 

ELINOR 

Nothing! His blood runs languidly. It needs 

The pricking of a vein to make the heart 

Beat, and the sluggish rivers flow. I have brought 

A lance for it. I'll let a little blood. 

Not over-much; enough, enough to set 

The pulses throbbing. 

PRIORESS 

Maid Marian came with him. 
She waits without and asks — 

ELINOR 

Let her not come 

Near him tiU all is done. Let her not know 

Anything, or the old fever will awake. 

I'll lance his arm now! 

[The Prioress closes the door. Elinor goes into the alcove. 
The chant from the chapel swells up again. Queen 
Elinor comes out of the alcove, white ajid trembling. 
She speaks in a low whisper as she looks back.] 

Now, trickle down, sweet blood. Grow white, fond lips 

That have kissed Marian — yet, she shall not boast 

You kissed her last; for I will have you wake 

To the fierce memory of this kiss in heaven 

Or burn with it in hell; 



264 SHERWOOD 

[She kneels down as if to kiss the face of Robin, within. The 
'chant from the chapel swells up more loudly. The door 
slowly opens. Marian steals in. Elinor rises and con- 
fronts her.] 

ELINOR 

[Laying a hand upon Robin's bow beside her.] 
Hush! Do not wake him! 

MARIAN 
[In a low voice.] 

What have you done with him? 

ELINOR 
[As Marian advances towards the couch.] 

He is asleep. 
Hush! Not a step further! Stay where you are! His life 
Hangs on a thread. 

MARIAN 

Why do you stare upon me? 
What have you done? What's this that trickles down — 

[Stoops to the floor and leaps back with a scream.] 
It is blood. You have killed him! 

ELINOR 

[Seizes the bow and shoots. Marian /a?Zs.] 

Follow him— down to hell. 
King John will find you there. 

[Exit. The scene grows dark.] 

MARIAN 

[Lifts her head with a groan.] 

I am dying, Robin! 
O God, I cannot wake him! Robin! Robin! 
Give me one word to take into the dark! 
He will not wake! He will not wake! God, 
Help him! 



SHERWOOD 265 

[She falls back unconscious. Shadow-of-a-Leaf, a green spray 
in his hand, opens the casement and stands for a moment 
in the xoindow against the last gloiv of sunset, then 
enters and runs to the side of Robin.] 



SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

[Hurriedly.] 
Awake, awake, Robin, awake! 
The forest waits to help you! All the leaves 
Are listening for your bugle. Ah, where is it? 
Let but one echo sound and the wild flowers 
Will break thro' these grey walls and the green sprays 
Drag down these deadly towers. Wake, Robin, wake, 
And let the forest drown the priest's grey song 
With happy murmurs. Robin, the gates are open 
For you and Marian! All I had to give 
I have given to thrust them open, the dear gates 
Of fairyland which I shall never pass 
Again. I can no more, I am but a shadow. 
Dying as mortals die! It is not I 
That calls, not I, but Marian. Hear her voice! 
Robin, awake! 
O, master mine, farewell! 

[Exit lingeringly through the casement.] 

ROBIN 

[Robin is dimly seen in the moxdh of the alcove. He stretches out 

his hands blindly in the dark.] 
Marian! Why do you call to me in dreams? 
Why do you call me? I must go. What's this? 
Help me, kind God, for I must say one word. 
Only one word — good-bye — to Marian, 
To Marian — Ah, too weak, too weak! 
[He sees the dark body of Marian and utters a cry, falling on his 

knees beside her.] 

OGod, 
Marian! Marian! 

My bugle! Ah, my bugle! 



266 SHERWOOD 

[He rises to his feet and, drowning the distant organ-music, he 
blows a resounding forest-call. It is answered by several 
in the forest. He falls on his knees by Mabian and 
takes her in his arms.] 

Marian, Marian, who hath used thee so? 

MARIAN 

Robin, it is my death-wound. Ah, come close. 

ROBIN 
Marian, Marian, what have they done to thee? 
[The Outlaws are heard thundering at the gates with cries.] 

OUTLAWS 
Robin! Robin! Robin! Break down the doors. 
[The terrified 7iuns stream past the window, out of the chapel. 

The Outlaws rush into the room. The scene still 

darkens.] 



Robin and Marian! 



SCARLET , 



LITTLE JOHN 

Christ, what devil's hand 
Hath played the butcher here? Quick, hunt them down. 
They passed out yonder. Let them not outlive 
Our murdered king and queen. 

REYNOLD GREENLEAF 

Robin, Robin, 
Who shot this bitter shaft into her breast? 

[Several stoop and kneel by the two lovers.] 

ROBIN HOOD 
Speak to me, Marian, speak to me, only speak! 
Just one small word, one little loving word 
Like those — do you remember? — you have breathed 
So many a time and often, against my cheek. 



SHERWOOD 267 

Under the boughs of Sherwood, in the dark 
At night, with nothing but the boughs and stars 
Between us and the dear God up in lieaven! 
O God, why does a man's heart take so long 
To break? It would break sooner if j^ou spoke 
A word to me, a word, one small kind word. 

MARIAN 

Sweetheart! 

ROBIN 

Sweetheart! You have broken it, broken it! Oh, kind, 
Kind heart of Marian! 

MARIAN 

Robin, come soon! 
[Dies.] 

ROBIN 

Soon, sweetheart! Oh, her sweet brave soul is gone! 
Marian, I follow quickly! 

SCARLET 

God, Kirklee 
Shall burn for this! 

LITTLE JOHN 

Kirklee shall burn for this! 

master, master, you shall be avenged! 

ROBIN 

No; let me stand upright! Your hand, good Scarlet! 
We have lived our lives and God be thanked we go 
Together thro' this darkness. We shall wake 
Please God, together. It is growing darker! 

1 cannot see your faces. Give me my bow 
Quickly into my hands, for my strength fails 
And I must shoot one last shaft on the trail 
Of yonder setting sun, never to reach it! 



258 SHERWOOD 

But where this last, last bolt of all my strength, 

My hope, my love, shall fall, there bury us both, 

Together, and tread the green turf over us! 

The bow! 

[Scarlet hands him his boiv. He stands against the faint glow 
of the window, draivs the bow to fidl length, shoots and 
falls hack into the arms of Little John.] 

LITTLE JOHN 

[Laying him down.] 
Weep, England, for thine outlawed lover, 
Dear Robin Hood, the poor man's friend, is dead. 
[The scene becomes quite dark. Then out of the darkness, and as 
if at a distance, the voice of Shadoav-of-a-Leaf is 
heard singing the fairy song of the first scene. The 
fairy glade in Sherwood begins to be visible in the gloom 
by the soft light cf the ivory gates which are sivinging 
open once more among the ferns. As the scene grows 
clearer the song of Shadow-of-a-Leaf groios more and 
more triumphant and is gradually caught up by the 
chorus of the fairy host within the woods.] 
[Song of Shadow-of-a-Leaf.] 



The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

The world begins again! 
And 0, the red of the roses, 

And the rush of the healing rain! 

II 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

The Princess wakes from sleep; 
For the soft green keys of the wood-land 
Have opened her donjon-keep! 



SHERWOOD 269 

III 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

Their grey walls hemmed us round; 
But, under my greenwood oceans, 

Their castles are trampled and drowned. 



IV 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

My green sprays climbed on high, 
And the ivy laid hold on their turrets 
And haled them down from the sky ! 



V 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

They were strong! They are overthrown! 
For the little soft hands of the wild-flowers 
Have broken them, stone by stone. 



VI 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

Though Robin lie dead, lie dead, 
And the green turf by Kirklee 
Lie light over Marian's head, 

VII 

Green ferns on the crimson sky-line. 

What bugle have you heard? 
Was it only the peal of the blue-bells, 
Was it only the call of a bird? 



270 SHERWOOD 

VIII 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered 1 

The rose o'er the f ortalice floats ! 
My nightingales chant in their chapels, 
My lilies have bridged their moats I 

IX 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

King Death, in the light of the sun, 
Shrinks like an elfin shadow! 
His reign is over and done! 

X 

The hawthorn whitens the wood-land; 
My lovers, awake, awake, 
Shake off the grass-green coverlet. 
Glide, bare-foot, thro' the brake! 

XI 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

And, under the great green boughs, 

I have found out a place for my lovers, 

I have built them a beautiful house. 

XII 

Green ferns in the dawn-red dew-fall, 

This gift by my death I give, — • 
They shall wander immortal thro' Sherwood! 
In my great green house they shall live! 

XIII 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

When the first wind blows from the South, 
They shall meet by the Gates of Faerie! 
She shall set her mouth to his mouth ! 



SHERWOOD 271 

XIV 

He shall gather her, fold her and keep her; 

They shall pass thro' the Gates, they shall live! 
For the Forest, the Forest has conquered! 
This gift by my death I give! 

XV 

The Forest has conquered! The Forest has conquered! The 
Forest has conquered! 

The world awakes anew; 
And 0, the scent of the hawthorn, 
And the drip of the healing dew! 
[The song ceases. Titania and Oberon co7ne out into the moon- 
lit glade.] 

OBERON 

Yet one night more the gates of fairyland 
Are opened by a mortal's kindly deed. 
But Robin Hood and Marian now are driven 
As we shall soon be driven, from the world 
Of cruel mortals. 

TITANIA 
Mortals call them dead; 
Oberon, what is death? 

OBERON 

Only a sleep. 
But these may dream their happy dreams in death 
Before they wake to that new lovely life 
Beyond the shadows; for poor Shadow-of-a-Leaf 
Has given them this by love's eternal law 
Of sacrifice, and they shall enter in 
To dream their lover's dream in fairyland. 

TITANIA 

And Shadow-of-a-Leaf? 

OBERON 

He cannot enter now. 
The gates are closed against him. 



272 SHERWOOD 

TITANIA 

But is this 
For ever? 

OBERON 

We fairies have not known or heard 
What waits for those who, like this wandering Fool, 
Throw all away for love. But I have heard 
There is a great King, out beyond the world. 
Not Richard, who is dead, nor yet King John; 
But a great King who one day will come home 
Clothed with the clouds of heaven from His Crusade. 

TITANIA 

The great King! 

OBERON 
Hush, the poor dark mortals come! 
[The crowd of serfs, old men, poor women, and children, begin to 
enter as the fairy song swells up within the gates again. 
Robin and Marian are led along by a crowd of fairies 
at the end of the processioji.] 

TITANIA 
And there, see, there come Robin and his bride. 
And the fairies lead them on, strewing their path 
With ferns and moon-flowers. See, they have entered in! 
[The last fairy vanishes thro' the gates.] 

OBERON 

And we must follow, for the gates may close 

For ever now. Hundreds of years may pass 

Before another mortal gives his life 

To help the poor and needy. 

[Oberon and Titania follow hand in hand thro' the gates. They 
begin to close. Shadow-of-a-Leaf steals wistfully 
and hesitatingly across, as if to enter. They close 
in his face. He goes up to them and leans against 
them sobbing, a small green figure, lookhig like a 
greenwood spray against their soft ivory glow. The 



SHERWOOD 273 

Jairy music dies. He sinks to his knees and holds up 
his hands. Immediately a voice is heard singing and 
drawing nearer thro' the forest.] 

[Song — drawing nearer.] 
Knight on the narrow way, 

Where wouldst thou ride? 
"Onward," I heard him say, 

"Love, to thy side!" 

"Nay," sang a bird above, 

''Stay, for I see 
Death in the mask of love 
Waiting for thee." 
[Enter Blondel, leading a great white steed. He stops and looks 
at the kneeling figure.] 

BLONDEL 

Shadow-of-a-Leaf ! 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 
[Rising to his feet.] 
Blondel! 

BLONDEL 

I go to seek 
My King' 

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF 

[In passionate grief.] 
The King is dead! 

BLONDEL 

[In yet more passionate joy and triumph.] 

The great King lives! 
[Then more tenderly.] 
Will you not come and look for Him with me? 
[They go slowly together through the forest and are lost to sight. 
Blondel's voice is heard singing the third stanza 
of the song in the distance, further and further away.\ 
"Death? What is Death?" he cried. 
"I must ride on!" 
[Curtain.] 

18 



274 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 



TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 



A KNIGHT OF THE OCEAN-SEA 

Under that foggy sunset London glowed, 
Like one huge cob-webbed flagon of old wine. 
And, as I walked down Fleet Street, the soft sky- 
Flowed thro' the roaring thoroughfares, transfused 
Their hard sharp outlines, blurred the throngs of black 
On either pavement, blurred the rolling stream 
Of red and yellow busses, till the town 
Turned to a golden suburb of the clouds. 
And, round that mighty bubble of St. Paul's, 
Over the up-turned faces of the street, 
An air-ship slowly sailed, with whirring fans, 
A voyager in the new-found realms of gold, 
A shadowy silken chrysalis whence should break 
What radiant wings in centuries to be. 

So, wandering on, while all the shores of Time 

Softened into Eternity, it seemed 

A dead man touched me with his living hand, 

A flaming legend passed me in the streets 

Of London — laugh who will — that City of Clouds, 

Where what a dreamer yet, in spite of all, 

Is man, that splendid visionary child 

Who sent his fairy beacon through the dusk, 

On a blue bus before the moon was risen, — 

This Night, at eight, The Tempest! 

Dreaming thus, 
(Small wonder that my footsteps went astray!) 
I found myself within a narrow street, 
Alone. There was no rumour, near or far. 
Of the long tides of traffic. In my doubt 
I turned and knocked upon an old inn-door. 



A KNIGHT OF THE OCEAN-SEA 275 

Hard by, an ancient inn of mullioned panes, 
And crazy beams and over-hanging eaves: 
And, as I knocked, the slowly changing west 
Seemed to change all the world with it and leave 
Only that old inn steadfast and unchanged, 
A rock in the rich-coloured tides of time. 



And, suddenly, as a song that wholly escapes 

Remembrance, at one note, wholly returns. 

There, as I knocked, memory returned to me. 

I knew it all — the little twisted street, 

The rough wet cobbles gleaming, far away, 

Like opals, where it ended on the sky; 

And, overhead, the darkly smiling face 

Of that old wizard inn ; I knew by rote 

The smooth sun-bubbles in the worn green paint 

Upon the doors and shutters. 



There was one 
Myself had idly scratched away one dawn. 
One mad May-dawn, three hundred years ago. 
When out of the woods we came with hawthorn boughs 
And found the doors locked, as they seemed to-night. 
Three hundred years ago — nay. Time was dead! 
No need to scan the sign-board any more 
Where that white-breasted siren of the sea 
Curled her moon-silvered tail among such rocks 
As never in the merriest seaman's tale 
Broke the blue-bliss of fabulous lagoons 
Beyond the Spanish Main. 



And, through the dream, 
Even as I stood and listened, came a sound 
Of clashing wine-cups : then a deep- voiced song 
Made the old timbers of the Mermaid Inn 
Shake as a galleon shakes in a gale of wind 
When she rolls glorying through the Ocean-sea. 



276 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

SONG 



Marchaunt Adventurers, chanting at the windlass, 

Early in the morning, we slipped from Plymouth Sound, 
All for Adventure in the great New Regions, 

All for Eldorado and to sail the world around! 
Sing! the red of sun-rise ripples round the bows again. 

Marchaunt Adventurers, sing, we're outward bound, 
All to stuff the sunset in our old black galleon. 

All to seek the merchandise that no man ever found. 
Chorus: Marchaunt Adventurers! 

Marchaunt Adventurers ! 

Marchaunt Adventurers, O, whither are ye bound? — 
All for Eldorado and the great new Sky-line, 

All to seek the merchandise that no man ever found. 



Marchaunt Adventurers, 0, what'ull ye bring home again?— 

Wonders and works and the thunder of the sea! 
Whom will ye traffic with? — The King of the Sunset! 

What shall be your pilot then? — A wind from Galilee. 
Nay, but ye be marchaunts, will ye come back empty-handed ? — 

Ay, we be marchaunts, though our gain we ne'er shall see. 
Cast we now our bread upon the waste wild waters. 

After many days, it shall return with usury. 

Chorus: Marchaunt Adventurers! 

Marchaunt Adventurers! 

What shall be your profit in the mighty days to be? — 
Englande! — Englande! — Englande! — Englande! — 
Glory everlasting and the lordship of the sea! 

And there, framed in the lilac patch of sky 
That ended the steep street, dark on its light, 
And standing on those glistering cobblestones 
Just where they took the sunset's kiss, I saw 
A figure like foot-feathered Mercury, 
Tall, straight and splendid as a sunset-cloud. 



A KNIGHT OF THE OCEAN-SEA 277 

Clad in a crimson doublet and trunk-hose, 
A rapier at his side; and, as he paused, 
His long fantastic shadow swayed and swept 
Against my feet. 

A moment he looked back, 
Then swaggered down as if he owned a world 
Which had forgotten— did I wake or dream?— 
Even his gracious ghost! 

Over his arm 
He swung a gorgeous murrey-coloured cloak 
Of Ciprus velvet, caked and smeared \\dth mud 
As on the day when— did I dream or wake? 
And had not all this happened once before?— 
When he had laid that cloak before the feet 
Of Gloriana! By that mud-stained cloak, 
'Twas he! Our Ocean-Shepherd! Walter Raleigh! 
He brushed me passing, and with one vigorous thrust 
Opened the door and entered. At his heels 
I followed— into the Mermaid!— through three yards 
Of pitch-black gloom, then into an old inn-parlour 
Swimming with faces in a mist of smoke 
That up-curled, blue, from long Winchester pipes, 
While— like some rare old picture, in a dream 
Recalled— quietly listening, laughing, watching. 
Pale on that old black oaken wainscot floated 
One bearded oval face, young, with deep eyes, 
Whom Raleigh hailed as "Will!" 

But as I stared 

A sudden buffet from a brawny hand 
Made all my senses swim, and the room rang 
With laughter as upon the rush-strewn floor 
My feet slipped and I fell. Then a gruff voice 
Growled over me — "Get up now, John-a-dreams, 
Or else mine host must find another drawer! 
Hast thou not heard us calling all this while?" 
And, as I scrambled up, the rafters rang 
With cries of "Sack! Bring me a cup of sack! 
Canary! Sack! Malmsey! and Muscadel!" 
I understood and flew. I was awake, 
A leather-jerkined pot-boy to these gods, 
A prentice Ganymede to the Mermaid Inn! 



278 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

There, flitting to and fro with cups of wine, 

I heard them toss the Chrysomelan names 

From mouth to mouth — ^Lyly and Peele and Lodge, 

Kit Marlowe, Michael Drayton, and the rest, 

With Ben, rare Ben, brick-layer Ben, who rolled 

Like a great galleon on his ingle-bench. 

Some twenty years of age he seemed; and yet 

This young Gargantua with the bull-dog jaws, 

The T, for Tyburn, branded on his thumb, 

And grim pock-pitted face, was growling tales 

To Dekker that would fright a buccaneer, — 

How in the fierce Low Countries he had killed 

His man, and won that scar on his bronzed fist; 

Was taken prisoner, and turned Catholick; 

And, now returned to London, was resolved 

To blast away the vapours of the to'wn 

With Boreas-throated plays of thunderous mirth. 

"I'll thwack their Tribulation- Wholesomes, lad, 

Their Yellow-faced Envies and lean Thorns-i'-the-Flesh, 

At the Black-friars Theatre, or The Rose, 

Or else The Curtain. Failing these, I'll find 

Some good square inn-yard with wide galleries, 

And windows level with the stage. 'Twill serve 

My Comedj" of Vapours; though, I grant, 

For Tragedy a private House is best, 

Or, just as Burbage tip-toes to a deed 

Of blood, or, over your stable's black half-door. 

Marked Battlements in white chalk, your breathless David 

Glowers at the whiter Bathsheba ■within. 

Some humorous coach-horse neighs a 'hallelujah' ! 

And the pit splits its doublets. Over goes 

The whole damned apple-barrel, and the yard 

Is all one rough and tumble, scramble and scratch 

Of prentices, green madams, and cut-purses 

For half-chewed Norfolk pippins. Never mind! 

We'U build the perfect stage in Shoreditch yet. 

And Will, there, hath half promised I shall write 

A piece for his own company! What d'ye think 

Of Venus and Adonis, his first heir. 

Printed last week? A bouncing boy, my lad! 

And he's at work on a Midsummer's Dream 

That turns the world to fairyland!" 



A KNIGHT OF THE OCEAN-SEA 279 

All these 
And many more were there, and ail were young! 
There, as I brimmed their cups, I heard the voice 
Of Raleigh ringing across the smoke-'WTeathed room, — 
"Ben, could you put a frigate on the stage, 
I've found a tragedy for you. Have you heard 
The true tale of Sir Humphrey Gilbert?" 

"No!" 

"Why, Ben, of all the tragical affairs 

Of the Ocean-sea, and of that other Ocean 

Where all men sail so blindly, and misjudge 

Their friends, their charts, their storms, their stars, their God, 

If there be truth in the blind crowder's song 

I bought in Bread Street for a penny, this 

Is the brief type and chronicle of them all. 

Listen!" Then Raleigh sent these rugged rhymes 

Of some blind crowder rolling in great waves 

Of passion across the gloom. At each refrain 

He sank his voice to a broad deep undertone, 

As if the distant roar of breaking surf 

Or the low thunder of eternal tides 

Filled up the pauses of the nearer storm. 

Storm against storm, a soul against the sea : — 



A KNIGHT OF THE OCEAN-SEA 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert, hard of hand. 

Knight-in-chief of the Ocean-sea, 
Gazed from the rocks of his New Found Land 

And thought of the home where his heart would be. 

He gazed across the wintry waste 

That weltered and hissed like molten lead, — 
"He saileth twice who saileth in haste! 

I'U wait the favour of Spring," he said. 

Ever the more, ever the more, 

He heard the winds and the waves roar! 

Thunder on thunder shook the shore. 



280 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

The yellow clots of foam went by- 
Like shavings that curl from a ship-wright's plane, 

Clinging and flying, afar and nigh, 
Shuddering, flying and clinging again. 

A thousand bubbles in every one 

Shifted and shimmered with rainbow gleams; 

But — had they been planets and stars that spun 
He had let them drift by his feet like dreams: 

Heavy of heart was our Admirall, 

For, out of his ships — and they were but three! — 
He had lost the fairest and most tall, 

And — he was a Knight of the Ocean-sea. 

Ever the more, ever the more, 

He heard the loinds and the waves roar! 

Thunder on thunder shook the shore. 

Heavy of heart, heavy of heart. 

For she was a galleon mighty as May, 

And the storm that ripped her glory apart 
Had stripped his soul for the winter's way; 

And he was aware of a whisper blown 

From foc'sle to poop, from windward to lee, 

That the fault was his, and his alone, 
And — he was a Knight of thfe Ocean-sea. 

"Had he done that! Had he done this!" 
And yet his mariners loved him well; 

But an idle word is hard to miss, 

And the foam hides more than the deep can tell. 

And the deep had buried his best-loved books, 
With many a hard-worn chart and plan : 

And a king that is conquered must see strange looks, 
So bitter a thing is the heart of man! 



A KNIGHT OF THE OCEAN-SEA 281 

And — "Who -will you find to pay your debt? 

For a venture like this is a costly thing! 
Will they stake yet more, tho' your heart be set 

On the mightier voyage you planned for the Spring?" 

He raised his head like a Viking crowned, — 

"I'll take my old flag to her Majestic, 
And she will lend me ten thousand pound 

To make her Queen of the Ocean-sea!" 

Ever the more, ever the more, 

He heard the winds and the waves roar! 

Thunder on thunder shook the shore. 

Outside — they heard the great winds blow! 

Outside — the blustering surf they heard. 
And the bravest there would ha' blenched to know 

That they must be taken at their own word. 

For the great grim waves were as molten lead 
— And he had two ships who sailed with three! — 

"And I sail not home till the Spring," he said, 
"They are all too frail for the Ocean-sea." 

But the trumpeter thought of an ale-house bench, 
And the cabin-boy longed for a Devonshire lane, 

And the gunner remembered a green-gowned wench, 
And the fos'cle whisper went round again, — 

"Sir Humphrey Gilbert is hard of hand, 

But his courage went down with the ship, may-be, 

And we wait for the Spring in a desert land, 
For — he is afraid of the Ocean-sea." 

Ever the more, ever the more. 

He heard the winds and the waves roar! 

Thunder on thunder shook the shore. 



282 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

He knew, he knew how the whisper went! 

He knew he must master it, last or first! 
He knew not how much or how little it meant; 

But his heart was heavy and like to burst. 

" Up with your sails, my sea-dogs all ! 

The wind has veered! And my ships," quoth he, 
"They will serve for a British Admirall 

Who is Knight-in-chief of the Ocean-sea!" 

His will was like a North-east wind 
That swept along our helmless crew; 

But he would not stay on the Golden Hynde, 
For that was the stronger ship of the two. 

" My little ship's-company, lads, hath passed 
Perils and storms a-many with me! 

Would ye have me forsake them at the last? 
They'll need a Knight of the Ocean-sea!" 

Ever tJie more, ever the more, 

We heard the winds and the waves roar! 

Thunder on thunder shook the shore. 

Beyond Cape Race, the pale sun splashed 
The grim grey waves with silver light 

Where, ever in front, his frigate crashed 
Eastward, for England and the night. 

And still as the dark began to fall, 

Ever in front of us, running free, 
We saw the sails of our Admirall 

Leading us home through the Ocean-sea. 

Ever the more, ever the more. 

We heard the winds and the waves roar! 

But he sailed on, sailed on before. 



A KNIGHT OF THE OCEAN-SEA 283 

On Monday, at noon of the third fierce day 

A-board our Golden Hynde he came, 
With a trail of blood, marking his way 

On the salt wet decks as he walked half-lame. 

For a rusty nail thro' his foot had pierced. 

"Come, master-surgeon, mend it for me; 
Though I would it were changed for the nails that amerced 

The dying thief upon Calvary." 

The surgeon bathed and bound his foot. 

And the master entreated him sore to stay; 
But roughly he pulled on his great sea-boot 
With — "The wind is rising and I must away!" 

I know not why so little a thing, 

When into his pinnace we helped him down, 

Should make our eyelids prick and sting 
As the salt spray were into them blown, 

But he called as he went — "Keep watch and steer 
By my lanthorn at night!" Then he waved his hand 

With a kinglier watch-word, " We are as near 
To heaven, my lads, by sea as by land!" 

Ever the more, ever the more, 

We heard the gathering tempest roar! 

But he sailed on, sailed on before. 

Three hundred leagues on our homeward road. 

We strove to signal him, swooping nigh, 
That he would ease his decks of their load 

Of nettings and fights and artillery. 

And dark and dark that night 'gan fall, 

And high the muttering breakers swelled, 
Till that strange fire which seamen call 

"Castor and Pollux," we beheld, 



284 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

An evil sign of peril and death, 

Burning pale on the high main-mast; 

But calm with the might of Gennesareth 
Our Admirall's voice went ringing past. 

Clear thro' the thunders, far and clear, 
Mighty to counsel, clear to command. 

Joyfully ringing, "We are as near 

To heaven, my lads, by sea as by land!" 

Ever the more, ever the more, 

We heard the rising hurricane roar! 

But he sailed on, sailed on before. 

And over us fled the fleet of the stars. 
And, ever in front of us, far or nigh, 

The lanthorn on his cross-tree spars 
Dipped to the Pit or soared to the Sky! 

'Twould sweep to the lights of Charles's Wain, 
As the hills of the deep 'ud mount and flee, 

Then swoop down vanishing cliffs again 
To the thundering gulfs of the Ocean-sea. 

We saw it shine as it swooped from the height, 
With ruining breakers on every hand. 

Then — a cry came out of the black mid-night. 
As near to heaven by sea as by land! 

And the light was out! Like a wind-blown spark, 
All in a moment! And we — and we — 

Prayed for his soul as we swept thro' the dark; 
For he was a Knight of the Ocean-sea. 

Over otir fleets for evermore 

The winds 'nil triumph and the waves roar! 

But lie sails on, sails on before! 



A COINER OF ANGELS 285 

Silence a moment held the Mermaid Inn, 
Then Michael Drayton, raising a cup of wine, 
Stood up and said, — "Since many have obtained 
Absolute glory that have done great deeds, 
But fortune is not. in the power of man, 
So they that, truly attempting, nobly fail. 
Deserve great honour of the common-wealth. 
Such glory did the Greeks and Romans give 
To those that in great enterprises fell 
Seeking the true commodity of their country 
And profit to all mankind; for, though they failed, 
Being by war, death, or some other chance. 
Hindered, their images were set up in brass, 
Marble and silver, gold and ivory. 
In solemn temples and great palace-halls, 
No less to make men emulate their virtues 
Than to give honour to their just deserts. 
God, from the time that He first made the world, 
Hath kept the knowledge of His Ocean-sea 
And the huge iEquinoctiall Continents 
Reserved unto this day. Wherefore I think 
No high exploit of Greece and Rome but seems 
A little thing to these Discoveries 
Which our adventurous captains even now 
Are making, out there. Westward, in the night, 
Captains most worthy of commendation, 
Hugh Willoughby — God send him home again 
Safe to the Mermaid! — and Dick Chauncellor, 
That excellent pilot. Doubtless this man, too, 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert, was worthy to be made 
Knight of the Ocean-sea. I bid you all 
Stand up, and drink to his immortal fame!" 



II 

A COINER OF ANGELS 

Some three nights later, thro' the thick brown fog, 
A link-boy, dropping flakes of crimson fire. 
Flared to the door and, through its glowing frame, 



286 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Ben Jonson and Kit Marlowe, arm in arm, 
Swaggered into the Mermaid Inn and called 
For red-deer pies. 

There, as they supped, I caught 
Scraps of ambrosial talk concerning Will, 
His Venus and Adonis. 

"Gabriel thought 
'Twas wrong to change the old writers and create 
A cold Adonis." 

— "Laws were made for Will, 
Not Will for laws, since first he stole a buck 
In Charlecote woods." 

— "Where never a buck chewed fern,' 
Laughed Kit, "unless it chewed the fern seed, too, 
And walked invisible." 

"Bring me some wine," called Ben, 
And, with his knife thrumming upon the board. 
He chanted, while his comrade munched and smiled. 



Will Shakespeare's out like Robin Hood 
With his merry men all in green. 

To steal a deer in Charlecote wood 
Where never a deer was seen. 



II 

He's hunted all a night of June, 
He's followed a phantom horn, 

He's killed a buck by the light of the moon, 
Under a fairy thorn. 



Ill 

He's carried it home with his merry, merry band. 

There never was haunch so fine; 
For this buck was born in Elfin-land 

And fed upon sops-in-wine. 



A COINER OF ANGELS 287 

rv 

This buck had browsed on elfin boughs 

Of rose-marie and bay, 
And he's carried it home to the little white house 

Of sweet Anne Hathaway. 



"The dawn above your thatch is red! 

Slip out of your bed, sweet Anne! 
I have stolen a fairy buck," he said, 

"The first since the world began. 

VI 

" Roast it on a golden spit, 

And see that it do not burn; 
For we never shall feather the like of it 

Out of the fairy fern." 

VII 

She scarce had donned her long white gown 

And given him kisses four. 
When the surly Sheriff of Stratford-town 

Knocked at the little green door. 

VIII 

They have gaoled sweet Will for a poacher; 

But squarely he fronts the squire, 
With "When did you hear in your woods of a deer? 

Was it under a fairy briar?" 



EX 

Sir Thomas he puffs, — "If God thought good 

My water-butt ran with wine, 
Or He dropt me a buck in Charlecote wood, 

I wot it is mine, not thine!" 



288 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 



"If you would eat of elfin meat," 

Says Will, "you must blow up your horn! 

Take your bow, and feather the doe 
That's under the fairy thorn! 



XI 



" If you would feast on elfin food. 

You've only the way to learn! 
Take your bow and feather the doe 

That's imder the fairy fern!" 

XII 

They're hunting high, they're hunting low, 

They're all away, away, 
With horse and hound to feather the doe 

That's under the fairy spray! 

XIII 

Sir Thomas he raged! Sir Thomas he swore! 

But all and all in vain; 
For there never was deer in his woods before, 

And there never would be again! 



And, as I brought the wine — "This is my grace," 

Laughed Kit, "Diana grant the jolly buck 

That Shakespeare stole were toothsome as this pie." 

He suddenly sank his voice, — "Hist, who comes here? 
Look — Richard Bame, the Puritan! 0, Ben, Ben, 
Your Mermaid Inn's the study for the stage. 
Your only teacher of exits, entrances. 
And all the shifting comedy. Be grave! 
Bame is the godliest hypocrite on earth! 
Remember I'm an atheist, black as coal. 



A COINER OF ANGELS 289 

He has called me Wormall in an anagram. 
Help me to bait him; but be very grave. 
We'U talk of Venus." 

As he whispered thus, 
A long white face with small black-beaded eyes 
Peered at him through the doorway. All too vv-ell, 
Afterwards, I recalled that scene, when Bame, 
Out of revenge for this same night, I guessed. 
Penned his foul tract on Marlowe's tragic fate; 
And, twelve months later, I watched our Puritan 
Riding to Tyburn in the hangman's cart 
For thie\'ing from an old bed-ridden dame 
With whom he prayed, at supper-time, on Sundays. 

Like a conspirator he sidled in, 
Clasping a little pamphlet to his breast, 
While, feigning not to see him, Ben began : — 

"Will's Venus and Adonis, Kit, is rare, 

A round, sound, full-blown piece of thorough work, 

On a great canvas, coloured like one I saw 

In Italy, by one — Titian! None of the toys 

Of artistry your lank-haired losels turn. 

Your Phyllida — Love-lies-bleeding — Kiss-me-Quicks, 

Your fluttering Sighs and Mark-how-I-break-my-beats, 

Begotten like this, whenever and how you list. 

Your Moths of verse that shrivel in every taper; 

But a sound piece of craftsmanship to last 

Until the stars are out. 'Tis twice the length 

Of Vergil's books— he's listening! Nay, don't look!— 

Two hundred solid stanzas, think of that; 

But each a square celestial brick of gold 

Laid level and splendid. I've laid bricks and know 

What thorough work is. If a storm should shake 

The Tower of London down, Will's house would stand. 

Look at his picture of the stallion, 

Nostril to croup, that's thorough finished work!" 

" 'Twill shock our Tribulation- Wholesomes, Ben! 
Think of that kiss of Venus! Deep, sweet, slow, 



19 



290 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

As the dawn breaking to its perfect flower 
And golden moon of bliss; then slow, sweet, deep. 
Like a great honeyed sunset it dissolves 
Away!" 

A hollow groan, like a bass viol, 
Resounded thro' the room. Up started Kit 
In feigned alarm — "What, Master Richard Bame! 
Quick, Ben, the good man's ill. Bring him some wine! 
Red wine for Master Bame, the blood of Venus 
That stained the rose!" 

"White wine for Master Bame," 
Ben echoed, "Juno's cream that" . . . Both at once 
They thrust a wine-cup to the sallow lips 
And smote him on the back. 

"Sirs, you mistake!" coughed Bame, waving his hands 
And struggling to his feet, 

" Sirs, I have brought 
A message from a youth who walked with you 
In wantonness, aforetime, and is now 
Groaning in sulphurous fires!" 

"Kit, that means hell!" 
"Yea, sirs, a pamphlet from the pit of hell, 
Written by Robert Greene before he died. 
Mark what he styles it — A Groatsworth of Wit 
Bought with a Million of Repentance!" 

"Ah, 
Poor Rob was all his life-time either drunk. 
Wenching, or penitent, Ben! Poor lad, he died 
Young. Let me see now, Master Bame, you say 
Rob Greene wrote this on earth before he died, 
And then you printed it yourself in hell!" 
" Stay, sir, I came not to this haunt of sin 
To make mirth for Beelzebub!" 

"0, Ben, 
That's you!" 

" 'Swounds, sir, am I Beelzebub? 
Ogs-gogs!" roared Ben, his hand upon his hilt! 
" Nay, sir, I signified the god of flies ! 
I spake out of the scriptures!" snuffled Bame 
With deprecating eye. 



A COINER OF ANGELS 291 

"I come to save 
A brand that you have kindled at your fire, 
But not yet charred, not yet so far consumed, 
One Richard Cholmeley, who declares to aU 
He was persuaded to turn atheist 
By Marlowe's reasoning. I have wrestled with him, 
But find him still so constant to your words 
That only you can save him from the fire." 
"Why, Master Bame," said Kit, "had I the keys 
To hell, the damned should all come out and dance 
A morrice round the Mermaid Inn to-night." 
"Nay, sir, the damned are damned!" 

"Come, sit you down! 
Take some more wine! You'd have them all be danmed 
Except Dick Cholmeley. What must I unsay 
To save him?" A quick eyelid dropt at Ben. 
"Now tell me, Master Bame!" 

"Sir, he derides 
The books of Moses!" 

"Bame, do you believe? — 
There's none to hear us but Beelzebub — 
Do you believe that we must taste of death 
Because God set a foolish naked wench 
Too near an apple-tree, how long ago? 
Five thousand years? But there were men on earth 
Long before that!" "Nay, nay, sir, if you read 
The books of Moses ..." "Moses was a juggler!" 
"A juggler, sir, how, what!" "Nay, sir, be calm! 
Take some more wine — the white, if that's too red! 
I never cared for Moses! Help yourseK 
To red-deer pie. Good! 

All the miracles 
You say that he performed — why, what are they? 
I ioiow one Heriots, hves in Friday Street, 
Can do much more than Moses! Eat your pie 
In patience, friend, the mouth of man performs 
One good work at a time. What says he, Ben? 
The red-deer stops his — what? Sticks in his gizzard? 
O — led them through the wilderness! No doubt 
He did — for forty years, and might have made 
The journey in six months. Believe me, sir, 



292 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

That is no miracle. Ivloscs gulled the Jews! 
Skilled in the sly tricks of the Egyptians, 
Only one art betrayed him. Sir, his books 
Are filthily written. I would undertake — 
If I were put to write a new religion — 
A method far more admirable. Eh, what? 
Gruel in the vestibule? Interpret, Ben! 
His mouth's too full! 0, the New Testament! 
Why, there, consider, were not all the Apostles 
Fishermen and base fellows, without wit 
Or worth?" — again his eyelid dropt at Bep — 
"The Apostle Paul alone had wit, and he 
Was a most timorous fellow in bidding us 
Prostrate ourselves to worldly magistrates 
Against our conscience! I shall fry for this? 
I fear no bugbears or hobgoblins, sir, 
And would have all men not to be afraid 
Of roasting, toasting, pitch-forks, or the threats 
Of earthly ministers, tho' their mouths be stuffed 
With curses or with crusts of red-deer pie! 
One thing I will confess — if I must choose — 
Give me the Papists that can serve their God 
Not with your scraps, but solemn ceremonies, 
Organs, and singing men, and shaven crowns. 
Your protestant is a hypocritical ass!" 

"Profligate! You blaspheme!" Up started Bame, 

A little unsteady now upon his feet. 

And shaking his crumpled pamphlet over his head! 

"Nay — if your pie be done, you shall partake 

A second course. Be seated, sir, I pray. 

We atheists will pay the reckoning! 

I had forgotten that a Puritan 

Will swallow Moses like a red-deer pie 

Yet choke at a wax-candle! Let me read 

Your pamphlet. What, 'tis half addi'essed to me! 

Ogs-gogs! Ben! Hark to this — the Testament 

Of poor Rob Greene would cut Will Shakespeare off 

With less than his own Groatsworth! Hark to this!" 

And there, unseen by them, a quiet figure 



A COINER OF ANGELS 293 

Entered the room and beckoning me for wine 
Seated himself to listen, Will himself, 
While Marlowe read aloud with knitted brows. 
" ' Trust them not; for there is an upstart crow 
Beautified with our feathers!' 

— 0, he bids 
All green eyes open: — 'And, being an absolute 
Johannes fac-totum is in his own conceit 
The only Shake-scene in a country!' " 

"Feathers!" 
Exploded Ben. "Why, come to that, he pouched 
Your eagle's feather of blank verse, and lit 
His Friar Bacon's little magic lamp 
At the Promethean fire of Faustus. Jove, 
It was a faery buck, indeed, that Will 
Poached in that greenwood." 

"Ben, see that you walk 
Like Adam, naked ! Nay, in nakedness 
Adam was first. Trust me, you'll not escape 
This calumny! Vergil is damned — he wears 
A hen-coop round his waist, nicked in the night 
From Homer! Plato is branded for a thief. 
Why, he wrote Greek! And old Prometheus, too, 
Who stole his fire from heaven!" 

"Who printed it?" 
"Chettle! I know not why, unless he too 
Be one of these same dwarfs that find the world 
Too narrow for their jealousies. Ben, Ben, 
I tell thee 'tis the dwarfs that find no world 
Wide enough for their jostling, while the giants, 
The gods themselves, can in one tavern find 
Room wide enough to swallow the wide heaven 
With all its crowded solitary stars." 

"Why, then, the Mermaid Inn should swallow this," 
The voice of Shakespeare quietly broke in. 
As laying a hand on either shoulder of Kit 
He stood behind him in the gloom and smiled 
Across the table at Ben, whose eyes still blazed 
With boyhood's generous wrath. "Rob was a poet. 
And had I known ... no matter! I am sorry 



294 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

He thought I wronged him. His heart's blood beats in this. 

Look, where he says he dies forsaken, Kit!" 

"Died drunk, more like," growled Ben. "And if he did," 

Will answered, "none was there to help him home, 

Had not a poor old cobbler chanced upon him, 

Dying in the streets, and taken him to his house, 

And let him break his heart on his own bed. 

Read his last words. You know he left his wife 

And played the moth at tavern tapers, burnt 

His wings and dropt into the mud. Read here, 

His dying words to his forsaken wife. 

Written in blood, Ben, blood. Read it, 'I charge thee, 

Doll, by the love of our youth, by ymj souVs rest, 

See this man paid! Had he not succoured me 

I had died in the streets.' How young he was to call 

Thus on their poor dead youth, this withered shadow 

That once was Robin Greene. He left a child — 

See — in its face he prays her not to find 

The father's, but her own. 'i/e is yet green 

And may grow straight,' so flickers his last jest, 

Then out for ever. At the last he begged 

A penny-pott of malmsey. In the bill. 

All's printed now for crows and daws to peck, 

You'll find four shillings for his winding sheet. 

He had the poet's heart and God help all 

Who have that heart and somehow lose their way 

For lack of helm, souls that are blown abroad 

By the great winds of passion, without power 

To sway them, chartless captains. Multitudes ply 

Trimly enough from bank to bank of Thames 

Like shallow wherries, whUe tall galleons, 

Out of their very beauty driven to dare 

The uncompassed sea, founder in starless nights, 

And all that we can say is — • 'They died drunk!'? 

"I have it from veracious witnesses," 

Bame snuffled, " that the death of Robert Greene 

Was caused by a surfeit, sir, of Rhenish wine 

And pickled herrings. Also, sir, that his shirt 

Was very foul, and while it was at wash 

He lay i' the cobbler's old blue smock, sir!" 



A COINER OF ANGELS 295 

"Gods," 
The voice of Raleigh muttered nigh mine ear, 
"I had a dirty cloak once on my arm; 
But a Queen's feet had trodden it! Drawer, take 
Yon pamphlet, have it fried in cod-fish oil 
And bring it hither. Bring a candle, too. 
And sealing-Avax ! Be quick. The rogue shall eat it, 
And then I'll seal his lips." 

"No— not to-night," 
Kit whispered, laughing, "I've a prettier plan 
For Master Bame." 

"As for that scrap of paper," 
The voice of Shakespeare quietly resumed, 
"Why, which of us could send his heart and soul 
Thro' Caxton's printing-press and hope to find 
The prettj^ pair unmangled. I'll not trust 
The spoken word, no, not of my own lips. 
Before the Judgment Throne against myself 
Or on my own defence; and I'll not trust 
The printed word to mirror Robert Greene. 
See — here's another Testament, in blood, 
Written, not printed, for the Mermaid Inn. 
Rob sent it from his death-bed straight to me. 
Read it. 'Tis for the Mermaid Inn alone; 
And when 'tis read, we'll burn it, as he asks." 

Then, from the hands of Shakespeare, Marlowe took 
A little scroll, and, while the winds without 
Rattled the shutters with their ghostly hands 
And wailed among the chimney-tops, he read : — 

Greeting to all the Mermaid Inn 
From their old Vice and Slip of Sin, 
Greeting, Ben, to you, and you 
Will Shakespeare and Kit Marlowe, too. 
Greeting from your Might-have-been, 
Your broken sapling, Robert Greene. 

Read my letter — 'Tis my last. 
Then let Memory blot me out, 
I would not make my maudlin past 
A trough for every swinish snout. 



296 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

First, I leave a debt unpaid, 

It's all chalked up, not much all told, 

For Bread and Sack. When I am cold, 

Doll can pawn my Spanish blade 

And pay mine host. She'll pay mine host! 

But ... I have chalked up other scores 

In your own hearts, behind the doors, 

Not to be paid so quickly. Yet, 

O, if you would not have my ghost 

Creeping in at dead of night. 

Out of the cold wind, out of the wet, 

With weeping face and helpless fingers 

Trying to wipe the marks away. 

Read what I can write, still write. 

While this life within them lingers. 

Let me pay, lads, let me pay. 

Item, for a peacock phrase. 
Flung out in a sudden blaze. 
Flung out at his friend Shake-scene, 
By this ragged Might-have-been, 
This poor Jackdaw, Robert Greene. 

Will, I knew it all the while! 

And you know it — and you smile! 

My quill was but a Jackdaw's feather, 

While the quill that Ben, there, wields, 

Fluttered down thro' azure fields. 

From an eagle in the sun; 

And yours. Will, yours, no earth-born thing 

A plume of rainbow-tinctured grain, 

Dropt out of an angel's wing. 

Only a Jackdaw's feather mine, 

And mine ran ink, and Ben's ran wine, 

And yours the pure Pierian streams. 

But I had dreams, 0, I had dreams! 
Dreams, you understand me, Will; 
And I fretted at the tether 
That bound me to the lowly plain, 
Gnawed my heart out, for I knew 
Once, tho' that was long ago, 



A COINER OF ANGELS 297 

I might have risen with Ben and you 

Somewhere near that Holy Hill 

Whence the li^'ing; rivers flow. 

Let it pass. I did not know 

One bitter phrase could ever fly 

So far through that immortal sky 

— Seeing all my songs had flown so low — 

One envious phrase that cannot die 

From century to century. 

Kit Marlowe ceased a moment, and the wind, 

As if indeed the night were aU one ghost. 

Wailed round the Mermaid Inn, then sent once more 

Its desolate passion through the reader's voice: — 

Some truth there was in what I said. 

Kit Marlowe taught you half your trade; 

And something of the rest you learned 

From me, — but all j^ou took you earned. 

You took the best I had to give. 

You took my clay and made it live; 

And that — why that's what God must do! — 

My music made for mortal ears 

You flung to aU the listening spheres. 

You took my dreams and made them true. 

And, if I claimed them, the blank air 

Might claim the breath I shape to prayer. 

I do not claim it! Let the earth 

Claim the thrones she brings to birth. 

Let the first shapers of our tongue 

Claim whate'er is said or sung, 

Till the doom repeal that debt 

And cancel the first alphabet. 

Yet when, like a god, you scaled 

The shining crags where my foot failed; 

Wlaen I saw my fruit of the vine 

Foam in the Olympian cup, 

Or in that broader chalice shine 

Blood-red, a sacramental drink. 

With stars for bubbles, lifted up, 



298 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Through the universal night, 
Up to the celestial brink, 
Up to that quintessential Light 
Wliere God acclaimed you for the wine 
Crushed from those poor grapes of mine; 
■ O, you'll understand, no doubt, 
How the poor vine-dresser fell, 
How a pin-prick can let out 
All the bannered hosts of hell, 
Nay, a knife-thrust, the sharp truth — 
I had spilt my wine of youth, 
The Temple was not mine to build. 
My place in the world's march was filled. 

Yet — through all the years to come — 
Men to whom my songs are dumb 
Will remember them and me 
For that one cry of jealousy, 
That curse where I had come to bless. 
That harsh voice of unhappiness. 
They'll note the curse, but not the pang, 
Not the torment whence it sprang, 
They'll note the blow at ray friend's back, 
But not the soul stretched on the rack. 
They'll note the weak convulsive sting. 
Not the crushed bodj^ and broken wing. 

Item, for my thirty years, 

Dashed with sun and splashed with tears. 

Wan with revel, red with wine. 

This Jack-o-lanthorn life of mine. 

Other wiser, happier men. 

Take the full three-score-and-ten, 

Climb slow, and seek the sun. 

Dancing down is soon done. 

Golden boys, beware, beware, — 

The ambiguous oracles declare 

Loving gods for those that die 

Young, as old men may; but I, 

Quick as was my pilgrimage, 

Wither in mine April age. 



A COINER OF ANGELS 299 

Item, one groatsworth of wit, 

Bought at an exceeding price, 

Ay, a million of repentance. 

Let me pay the whole of it. 

Lying here these deadly nights. 

Lads, for me the Mermaid lights 

Gleam as for a castaway 

Swept along a midnight sea 

The harbour-lanthorns, each a spark, 

A pin-prick in the solid dark. 

That lets trickle through a ray 

Glorious out of Paradise, 

To stab him with new agony. 

Let me pay, lads, let me pay! 

Let the Mermaid pass the sentence: 

I am pleading guilty now, 

A dead leaf on the laurel-bough, 

And the storm whirls me away. 



Kit Marlowe ceased; but not the wailing wind 
That round and round the silent Mermaid Inn 
Wandered, with helpless fingers trying the doors, 
Like a most desolate ghost. 

A sudden throng 
Of players bustled in, shaking the rain 
From their plumed hats. ''Veracious witnesses," 
The snuffle of Bame arose anew, "declare 
It was a surfeit killed him, Rhenish wine 
And pickled herrings. His shirt was very foul. 
He had but one. His doublet, too, was frayed, 
And his boots broken . . . " 

"What! Gonzago, you!'^ 
A short fat player called in a deep voice 
Across the room and, throwing aside his cloak 
To show the woman's robe he wore beneath. 
Minced up to Bame and bellowed — " 'Tis such men 
As ./ou that tempt us women to our fall!" 
And all the throng of players rocked and roared. 
Till at a nod and wink from Kit a hush 
Held them again. 



300 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

"Look to the door," he said, 
" Is any listening?" The young player crept, 
A mask of mystery, to the door and peeped. 
"All's well! The coast is clear!" 

"Then shall we tell 
Our plan to Master Bame?" 

Round the hushed room 
Went Kit, a pen and paper in his hand. 
Whispering each to read, digest, and sign, 
While Ben re-filled the glass of Master Bame. 
"And now," said Kit aloud, "what think you, lads? 
Shall he be told?" Solemnly one or two 
'Gan shake their heads with "Safety! safety! Kit!" 
"0, Bame can keep a secret! Come, we'll tell him! 
He can advise us how a righteous man 
Should act! We'll let him share an he approve. 
Now, Master Bame, — come closer — my good friend, 
Ben Jonson here, hath lately found a way 
Of — hush! Come closer! — coining money, Bame." 
"Coining!" "Ay, hush, now! Hearken! A certain sure 
And indiscoverable method, sir! 
He is acquainted with one Poole, a felon 
Lately released from Newgate, hath great skill 
In mixture of metals — hush ! — and, by the help 
Of a right cunning maker of stamps, we mean 
To coin French crowns, rose-nobles, pistolettes, 
Angels and English shillings." 

For one breath 
Bame stared at him with bulging beetle-eyes, 
Then murmured shyly as a country maid 
In her first wooing, " Is't not against the law?" 
"Why, sir, who makes the law? Why should not Bame 
Coin his own crowns like Queen Elizabeth? 
She is but mortal! And consider, too. 
The good works it should prosper in your hands. 
Without regard to red-deer pies and wine 
White as the Milky Way. Such secrets, Bame, 
Were not good for the general; but a few 
Discreet and righteous palms, your own, my friend, 
And mine, — what think j^ou?" 



A COINER OF ANGELS 301 

With a hesitant glance 
Of well-nigh child-like cunning, screwing his eyes, 
Bame laughed a little huskily and looked round 
At that grave ring of anxious faces, all 
Holding their breath and thrilling his blunt nerves 
With their stage-practice. "And no risk?" breathed Bame, 
" No risk at all?" "0, sir, no risk at all! 
We make the very coins. Besides, that part 
Touches not you. Yours is the honest face, 
That's all we want." 

"Why, sir, if you be sure 
There is no risk ..." 

" You'll help to spend it. Good ! 
We'll talk anon of this, and you shall carry 
More angels in your pocket, master Bame, 
T^han e'er you'll meet in heaven. Set hand on seal 
To this now, master Bame, to prove j^our faith. 
Come, all have signed it. Here's the quill, dip, write. 
Good!" 

And Kit, pocketing the paper, bowed 
The gull to the inn-door, saying as he went, — 
"You shall hear further when the plan's complete. 
But there's one great condition — not one word, 
One breath of scandal more on Robert Greene. 
He's dead ; but he was one of us. The day 
You air his shirt, I air this paper, too." 
No gleam of understanding, even then. 
Illumed that long white face: no stage, indeed. 
Has known such acting as the Mermaid Inn 
That night, and Bame but sniggered, "Whjrj of course,^ 
There's good in all men; and the best of us 
Will make mistakes." 

"But no mistakes in this," 
Said Kit, "or all together we shall swing 
At Tyburn — who knows what may leap to light? — 
You understand? No scandal!" " Not a breath !" 
So, in dead silence. Master Richard Bame 
Went out into the darkness and the night. 
To ask, as I have heard, for many a moon. 
The price of malmsey-butts and silken hose, 
And doublets slashed with satin. 



302 TALES OP THE MERMAID TAVERN 

As the door 
Slammed on his back, the pent-up laughter burst 
With echo and re-echo round the room, 
But ceased as Will tossed on the glowing hearth 
The last poor Testament of Robert Greene. 
All watched it burn. The black wind wailed and moaned 
Around the Mermaid as the sparks flew up. 
"God, what a night for ships upon the sea," 
Said Raleigh, peering through the wet black panes, 
"Well — we may thank Him for the Little Red Ring!" 
''The Little Red Ring," cried Kit, ''the Utile Red Ring!" 
Then up stood Dekker on the old black settle. 
"Give it a thumping chorus, lads," he called. 
And sang this brave song of the Mermaid Inn: — 



Seven wise men on an old black settle. 

Seven wise men of the Mermaid Inn, 
Ringing blades of the one right metal, 

What is the best that a blade can win? 
Bread and cheese, and a few small kisses? 

Ha! ha! ha! Would you take them — you? 
— Ay, if Dame Venus would add to her blisses 

A roaring fire and a friend or two! 

Chorus: Up now, answer me, tell me true! — 

— Ay, if the hussy would add to her blisses 
A roaring fire and a friend or two! 



II 

What will you say when the world is dying? 

What, when the last wild midnight falls 
Dark, too dark for the bat to be flying 

Round the ruins of old St. Paul's? 
What will be last of the lights to perish? 

What but the little red ring we knew. 
Lighting the hands and the hearts that cherish 

A fire, a fire, and a friend or two! 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 303 

Chorus: Up now, answer me, tell me true! 

What will ho. last of the stars to perish? 
— The fire that lighteth a friend or two! 

Ill 

Up now, answer me, on your mettle 

Wisest man of the Mermaid Inn, 
Soberest man on the old black settle, 

Out with the truth! It was never a sin. — 
Well, if God saved me alone of the seven. 

Telling me you must be damned, or you, 
"This," I would say, "This is hell, not heaven 1 

Give me the fire and a friend or two!" 

Chorus: Steel was never so ringing true: 

"God," we would say, "this is hell, not heaveni 
Give us the fire, and a friend or two!" 



Ill 

BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 

The garlands of a Whitsun ale were strewn 
About our rushes, the night that Raleigh brought 
Bacon to sup with us. There, on that night, 
I saw the singer of the Faerie Queen 
Quietly spreading out his latest cantos 
For Shakespeare's eye, like white sheets in the sun. 
Marlowe, our morning-star, and Michael Drayton 
Talked in that ingle-nook. And Ben was there. 
Humming a song upon that old black settle: 

"Or leave a kiss but in the cup 

And I'll not ask for wine." 
But, meanwhile, he drank malmsey. 

Francis Bacon 
Straddled before the fire; and, all at once, 
He said to Shakespeare, in a voice that gripped 
The Mermaid Tavern like an arctic frost: 



304 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

" There are no poets in this age of ours, 

Not to compare with Plautus. They are all 

Dead, the men that were famous in old da7/s." 

"Why — so they are," said Will. The humming stopped. 

I saw poor Spenser, a shy gentle soul. 

With haunted eyes like starlit forest pools, 

Smuggling his cantos under his cloak again. 

"There's verse enough, no doubt," Bacon went on, 

"But English is no language for the Muse. 

Whom v/ould you call our best? There's Gabriel Harvey, 

And Edward, Earl of Oxford. Then there's Dyer, 

And Doctor Golding; while, for tragedy, 

Thomas, Lord Buckhurst, hath a lofty vein. 

And, in a lighter prettier vein, why, Will, 

There is thyself! But — where's Euripides?" 

"Dead," echoed Ben, in a deep ghost-like voice. 
And drip — drip — drip — outside we heard the rain 
Miserably dropping round the Mermaid Inn. 

"Thy Summer's Night— eh, Will? Midsummer's Night ?- 
That's a quaint fancy," Bacon droned anew, 
"But — Athens was an error. Will! Not Athens! 
Titania knew not Athens ! Those wild elves 
Of thy Midsummer's Dream — eh? Midnight's Dream? — 
Are English all. Thy woods, too, smack of England; 
They never grew round Athens. Bottom, too. 
He is not Greek!" 

"Greek?" Will said, with a chuckle, 
"Bottom a Greek? Why, no, he was the son 
Of Marian Hacket, the fat wife that kept 
An ale-house, Wincot-way. I lodged with her 
Walking from Stratford. You have never tramped 
Along that countryside? By Burton Heath? 
Ah, well, you W^ould not know my fairylands. 
It warms my blood to let my home-spuns play 
Around your cold white Athens. There's a joy 
In jumping time and space." 

But, as he took 
The cup of sack I proffered, solemnly 
The lawyer shook his head. "Will, couldst thou use 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 305 

Thy talents with discretion, and obey 

Classic examples, those mightst match old Plautus, 

In all except priority of the tongue. 

This English tongue is only for an age. 

But Latin for all time. So I propose 

To embalm in Latin my philosophies. 

Well seize your hour! But, ere you die, you'll sail 

A British galleon to the golden courts 

Of Cleopatra." 

"Sail it!" Marlowe roared, 
Mimicking in a fit of thunderous glee 
The drums and trumpets of his Tamburlaine: 
"And let her buccaneers bestride the sphinx, 
And play at bowls with Pharaoh's pyramids, 
And hale white Egypt with their tarry hands 
Home to the Mermaid! Lift the good old song 
That Rob Greene loved. Gods, how the lad would shout it I 
Stand up and sing, John Davis!" 

"Up!" called Raleigh, 
"Lift the chanty of Black Bill's Honey-moon, Jack! 
We'll keep the chorus going!" 

"Silence, all!" 
Ben Jonson echoed, rolling on his bench: 
"This gentle lawyer hath a longing, lads, 
To hear a right Homeric hymn. Now, Jack! 
But wet your whistle, first! A cup of sack 
For the first canto! Muscadel, the next! 
Canary for the last!" I brought the cup. 
John Davis emptied it at one mighty draught, 
Leapt on a table, stamped with either foot, 
And straight began to troll this mad sea-tale : 

CANTO THE FIEST 

Let Martin Parker at hawthorn-tide 

Prattle in Devonshire lanes. 
Let all his pedlar poets beside 

Rattle their gallows-chains, 
A tale like mine they never shall tell 

Or a merrier ballad sing. 
Till the Man in the Moon pipe up the tune 

And the stars play Kiss-in-the-Ring! 

20 



306 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Chorus: Till Philip of Spain in England reign, 
And the stars play Kiss-in- the-Ringi 



All in the gorgeous dawn of day 

From grey old Plj'^mouth Sound 
Our galleon crashed thro' the crimson spray 

To sail the world around : 
Cloud i' the Sun was her white-scrolled name, — 

There was never a lovelier lass 
For sailing in state after pieces of eight 

With her bombards all of brass. 

Chorus: Culverins, robinets, iron may-be; 
But her bombards all of brass! 

Now, they that go down to the sea in ships, 

Though piracy be their trade, 
For all that they pray not much with their lips 

They know where the storms are made: 
With the stars above and the sharks below, 

They need not parson or clerk; 
But our bo'sun Bill was an atheist stUl, 

Except — sometimes — in the dark! 

Chorus: Now let Kit Marlowe mark! 

Our bo'sun Bill was an atheist stUl, 
Except — sometimes — in the dark! 

All we adventured for, who shall say. 

Nor yet what our port might be? — 
A magical city of old Cathay, 

Or a castle of Muscovy, 
With our atheist bo'sun. Bill, Black Bill, 

Under the swinging Bear, 
Whisthng at night for a seaman to light 

His little poop-lanthorns there. 

Chorus: On the deep, in the night, for a seaman to light 
His little lost lanthorns there. 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 



307 



But, as over the Ocean-sea we swept, 

We chanced on a strange new land 
Where a valley of tall white lilies slept 

With a forest on either hand; 
A valley of white in a purple wood 

And, behind it, faint and far, 
Breathless and bright o'er the last rich height. 

Floated the sunset-star. 

Chorus: Fair and bright o'er the rose-red height, 
Venus, the sunset-star. 

'Twas a marvel to see, as we beached our boat. 

Black Bill, in that peach-bloom air, 
With the great white lilies that reached to his throat 

Like a stained-glass bo'sun there. 
And our little ship's chaplain, puffing and red, 

A-starn as we onward stole, 
With the disk of a lily behind his head 

Like a cherubin's aureole. 

Chorum: He was round and red and behind his head 
He'd a cherubin's aureole. 



Chorus: 



"Hyrcania, land of honey and bees. 

We have found thee at last," he said, 
"Where the honey-comb swells in the hollow trees," 

(0, the lily behind his head!) 
"The honey-comb swells in the purple wood! 

'Tis the swette which the heavens distil, 
Saith Pliny himself, on my little book-shelf! 

Is the world not sweet to thee, Bill?" 

"Saith Pliny himself, on my little book-shelf i 
Is the world not sweet to thee, Bill?" 



Now a man may taste of the devil's hot spice, 

And yet if his mind run back 
To the honey of childhood's Paradise 

His heart is not wholly black; 



308 TALES OP THE MERMAID TAVERN 

And Bill, Black Bill, from the days of his youth, 
Tho' his chest was broad as an oak, 

Had cherished one innocent little sweet tooth, 
And it itched as our chaplain spoke. 

Chorus: He had kept one perilous little tooth, 
And it itched as our chaplain spoke. 

All around was a mutter of bees. 

And Bill 'gan muttering too, — 
"If the honey-comb swells in the hollow trees, 

(What else can a Didymus do?) 
I'll steer to the purple woods myself 

And see if this thing be so. 
Which the chaplain found on his little book-shelf. 

For Pliny lived long ago." 

Chorus: There's a platter of delf on his little book-shelf. 
And Pliny lived long ago. 

Scarce had he spoken when, out of the wood. 

And buffeting all around, 
Rooting our sea-boots where we stood, 

There rumbled a marvellous sound, 
As a mountain of honey were crumbling asunder, 

Or a sunset-avalanche hurled 
Honey-comb boulders of golden thunder 

To smother the old black world. 

Chorus : Honey-comb boulders of musical thunder 
To mellow this old black world. 

And the chaplain he whispered — "This honey, 
one saith, 

On my camphired cabin-shelf, 
None may harvest on pain of death; 

For the bee would eat it himself! 
None walketh those woods but him whose voice 

In the dingles you then did hear!" 
"A Voice?" growls Bill. "Ay, Bill, r-r-rejoice! 

'Twas the great Hyrcanian Bear!" 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 309 

Chorus: Give thanks! jRe-joice! 'Twas the glor-r-r-ious 
Voice 
Of the great Hyrcanian Bear! 



But, marking that Bill looked bitter indeed, 

For his sweet tooth hungered sore, 
"Consider," he saith, "that the Sweet hath need 

Of the Sour, as the Sea of the Shore! 
As the night to the day is our grief to our joy, 

And each for its brother prepares 
A banquet, Bill, that would otherwise cloy. 

Thus is it with honey and bears." 

Chorus: Roses and honey and laughter would cloy! 

Give us thorns, too, and sorrow and bears! 

"Consider," he saith, "how by fretting a string 

The lutanist maketh sweet moan. 
And a bird ere it fly must have air for its wing 

To buffet or fall like a stone: 
Tho' you blacken like Pluto you make but more white 

These blooms which not Enna could yield! 
Consider, Black Bill, ere the coming of night, 

The lilies," he saith, "of the field." 

Chorus: "Consider, Black Bill, in this beautiful light, 
The lilies," he saith, "of the field." 

"Consider the claws of a Bear," said Bill, 

"That can rip off the flesh from your bones, 
While his belly could cabin the skipper and still 

Accommodate Timothy Jones! 
Why, that's where a seaman who cares for his grog 

Perspires how this world isn't square! 
If there's cause for a cow, if there's use for a don, 

By Pope John, there's no Sense in a Bear!" 

Chorus: Cause for a cow, use for a dog, 

By'r Lakin, no Sense in a Bear! 



310 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

But our little ship's chaplain — "Sense," quoth he, 

"Hath the Bear tho' his making have none; 
For, my little book saith, by the sting of this bee 

Would Ursus be wholly foredone, 
But, or ever the hive he adventureth nigh 

And its crisp gold-crusted dome. 
He lardeth his nose and he greaseth his eye 

With a piece of an honey-comb." 

Chorus: His velvety nose and his sensitive eye 
With a piece of an honey-comb. 

Black Bill at the word of that golden crust 

— For his ears had forgotten the roar. 
And his eyes grew soft with their innocent lust — 

'Gan licking his lips once more: 
" Be it bound like a missal and printed as fair, 

With capitals blue and red, 
'Tis a lie; for what honey could comfort a bear, 

Till the bear win the honey?" he said. 

Chorus: "Ay, whence the first honey wherewith the first bear 
First larded his nose?" he said. 

"Thou first metaphysical bo'sun. Bill," 

Our chaplain quizzingly cried, 
"Wilt thou riddle me redes of a dumpling still 

With thy 'how came the apple inside'?" 
"Nay," answered Bill, "but I quest for truth. 

And I find it not on your shelf! 
I will face your Hyrcanian bear, forsooth, 

And look at his nose myself." 

Chorus: For truth, for truth, or a little sweet tooth — 
I will into the woods myself. 

Breast-high thro' that foam-white ocean of bloom 
With its wonderful spokes of gold, 

Our sun-burnt crew in the rose-red gloom 
Like buccaneer galleons rolled: 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 311 

Breast-high, breast-high in the lilies we stood, 
And before we could say "good-night," 

Out of the valley and into the wood 
He plunged thro' the last rich light. 

Chorus: Out of the lilies and into the wood. 

Where the Great Bear walks all night! 

And our little ship's chaplain he piped thro' the trees 

As the moon rose, white and still, 
"Hylas, return to thy Heracles!" 

And we helped him with "Come back. Bill!" 
Thrice he piped it, thrice we halloo'd. 

And thrice we were dumb to hark; 
But never an answer came from the wood, 

So — we turned to our ship in the dark. 

Chorus: Good-bye, Bill! you're a Didymus still; 
But — you're all alone in the dark. 

"This honey now" — as the first canto ceased, 

The great young Bacon pompously began — 

"Which Pliny calleth, as it were, the swette 

Of heaven, or spettle of the stars, is found 

In Muscovy. Now ..." "Bring the muscadel," 

Ben Jonson roared — '"Tis a more purple drink. 

And suits with the next canto!" 

At one draught 
John Davis drained the cup, and with one hand 
Beating the measure, rapidly trolled again. 

CANTO THE SECOND 

Now, Rabelais, art thou quite foredone, 
Dan Chaucer, Drayton, Every One! 
Leave we aboard our Cloud i' the Sun 

This crew of pirates dreaming — 
Of Angels, minted in the blue 
Like golden moons, Rose-nobles, too. 
As under the silver-sliding dew 

Our emerald creek lay gleaming! 

Chorum: Under the stars lay gleaming! 



312 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

And mailed with scales of gold and green 
The high star-lilied banks between, 
Nosing our old black hulk unseen, 

Great alligators shimmered: 
Blood-red jaws i' the blue-black ooze, 
Wliere all the long warm day they snooze, 
Che\ving old cuds of pirate-crews. 

Around us grimly glimmered. 

Chorus: Their ej'^es like rubies glimmered. 

Let us now sing of Bill, good sirs! 
Follow him, all green forest6res, 
Fearless of Hyrcanian bears 

As of these ghostly lilies ! 
For 0, not Drayton there could sing 
Of wild Pigwiggen and his King 
So merry a jest, so jolly a thing 

As this my tale of Bill is. 

ChoriLs: Into the woods where Bill is! 

Now starts he as a white owl hoots, 
And now he stumbles over roots, 
And now beneath his big sea-boots 

In yon deep glade he crunches 
Black cakes of honey-comb that were 
So elfln-sweet, perchance, last year; 
But neither Bo'sun, now, nor Bear 

At that dark banquet munches. 

Chorus: Onward still he crunches! 

Black cakes of honey-comb he sees 
Above him in the forks of trees. 
Filled by stars instead of bees. 

With brimming silver glisten: 
But ah, such food of gnome and fay 
Could neither Bear nor Bill delay 
Till where yon ferns and moonbeams play 

He starts and stands to listen ! 

Chorum: What melody doth he listen? 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 



3ia 



Is it the Night-Wind as it comes 
Through the wood and softly thrums 
Silvery tabors, purple drums, 

To speed some wild-wood revel? 
Nay, Didymus, what faint sweet din 
Of viol and flute and violin 
Makes all the forest round thee spin, 

The Night- Wind or the Devil? 

Chorus: No doubt at all — the Devil! 

He stares, with naked knife in hand, 
This buccaneer in fairyland ! 
Dancing in a saraband 

The red ferns reel about him? 
Dancing in a morrice-ring 
The green ferns curtsey, kiss and cling I 
Their Marians flirt, their Robins fling 

Their feathery heels to flout him! 

Chorus: The whole wood reels about him. 

Dance, ye shadows! O'er the glade, 
Bill, the Bo'sun, undismayed, 
Pigeon-toes with glittering blade! 

Drake was never bolder! 
Devil or Spaniard, what cares he 
Whence your eerie music be? 
Till — lo, against yon old oak-tree 

He leans his brawny shoulder! 

Chorus: He lists and leans his shoulder! 

Ah, what melody doth he hear 

As to that gnarled old tree-trunk there 

He lays his wind-bit brass-ringed ear, 

And steals his arm about it? 
What Dryad could this Bo'sun win 
To that slow- rippling amorous grin? — 
'Twas full of singing bees within! 

Not Didymus could doubt it! 

Chorum: So loud they buzzed about it! 



314 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Straight, o'er a bough one leg he throws, 
And up that oaken main-mast goes 
With reckless red unlarded nose 

And gooseberry eyes of wonder! 
Till now, as in a galleon's hold. 
Below, he sees great cells of gold 
Whence all the hollow trunk up-rolled 

A low melodious thunder. 

Chorus: A sweet and perilous thunder! 

Ay, there, within that hollow tree. 

Will Shakespeare, mightst thou truly see 

The Imperial City of the Bee, 

In Chrysomelan splendour! 
And, in the midst, one eight-foot dome 
Swells o'er that Titan honey-comb 
Where the Bee-Empress hath her home, 

With such as do attend her. 

Chorus: Weaponed with stings attend her! 

But now her singing sentinels 
Have turned to sleep in waxen cells. 
And Bill leans down his face and smells 

The whole sweet summer's cargo — 
In one deep breath, the whole year's bloom. 
Lily and thyme and rose and broom. 
One Golden Fleece of flower-perfume 

In that old oaken Argo. 

CJwrus: That green and golden Argo ! 

And now he hangs with dangling feet 
Over that dark abyss of sweet. 
Striving to reach such wild gold meat 

As none could buy for money: 
Kis left hand grips a swinging branch 
When — crack ! Our Bo'sun, stout and stanch, 
Falls like an Alpine avalanche, 

Feet first into the honey! 

Chorus: Up to his ears in honey! 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 315 

And now his red unlarded nose 
And bulging eyes are all that shovrs 
Above it, as he puffs and blov/s! 

And now — to 'scape the scathing 
Of that black host of furious bees 
His nose and eyes he fain would grease 
And bobs below those golden seas 

Like an old woman bathing. 

Chorus: Old Mother Hubbard bathing! 

And now he struggles, all in vain, 
To reach some little bough again; 
But, though he heaves with might and main. 

This honey holds his ribs, sirs. 
So tight, a barque might sooner try 
To steer a cargo through the sky 
Than Bill, thus honey-logged, to fly 

By flopping of his jib, sirs! 

Chorus: His tops'l and his jib, sirs! 

Like Oberon in the hive his beard 
With wax and honey all besmeared 
Would make the crescent moon afeard 

That now is sailing brightly 
Right o'er his leafy donjon-keep! 
But that she knows him sunken deep, 
And that his tower is straight and steep, 

She would not smile so lightly. 

Chorus: Look down and smile so lightly. 

She smiles in that small heavenly space, 
Ringed with the tree-trunk's leafy grace. 
While upward grins his ghastly face 

As if some wild-wood Satyr, 
Some gnomish Ptolemy should dare 
Up that dark optic tube to stare. 
As all unveiled she floated there. 

Poor maiden moon, straight at her! 

Chorus: The buccaneering Satyr! 



316 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

But there, till some one help him out, 
Black Bill must stay, without a doubt. 
"Help! Help!" he gives a muffled shout!! 

None but the white owls hear it! 
Who? Whoof they cry: Bill answers "Me! 
I am stuck fast in this great tree! 
Bring me a rope, good Timothy! 

There'^ honey, lads, we'll share it!" 

Chorus: Ay, now he wants to share it. 

Then, thinking help may come with morn, 
He sinks, half-famished and out-worn. 
And scarce his nose exalts its horn 

Above that sea of glory! 
But, even as he owns defeat. 
His belly saith, "A man must eat. 
And since there is none other meat, 

Come, lap this mess before 'ee!" 

Chorus: This glorious mess before 'ee. 

Then Dian sees a right strange sight 
As, bidding him a fond good-night. 
She flings a silvery kiss to light 

In that deep oak-tree hollow. 
And finds that gold and crimson nose 
A moving, munching, ravenous rose 
That up and down unceasing goes, 

Save when he stops to swallow! 

Chorum: He finds it hard to swallow! 

Ay, now his best becomes his worst, 
For honey cannot quench his thirst, 
Though he should eat until he burst; 

But, ah, the skies are kindly. 
And from their tender depths of blue 
They send their silver-sliding dew. 
So Bill thrusts out his tongue anew 

And waits to catch it — blindly ! 

Chorus: For ah, the stars are kindly! 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 317 

And sometimes, with a shower of rain, 
They strive to ease their prisoner's pain: 
Then Bill thrusts out his tongue again 

With never a grace, the sinner! 
And day and night and day goes by, 
And never a comrade comes anigh. 
And still the honey swells as high 

For supper, breakfast, dinner! 

Chorus: Yet Bill has grown no thinner! 

The young moon grows to full and throv>rs 
Her buxom kiss upon his nose, 
As nightly over the tree she goes, 

And peeps and smiles and passes. 
Then with her fickle silver flecks 
Our old black galleon's dreaming decks; 
And then her face, with nods and becks, 

In midmost ocean glasses. 

Chorus: 'Twas ever the way with lasses! 

Ah, Didjrmus, hast thou won indeed 
That Paradise which is thy meed? 
(Thy tale not all that run may read!) 

Thy sweet hath now no leaven ! 
Now, like an onion in a cup 
Of mead, thou liest for Jove to sup, 
Could Polyphemus lift thee up 

With Titan hands to heaven ! 

Chorus: This great oak-cup to heaven! 

The second canto ceased; and, as they raised 

Their wine-cups with the last triumphant note, 

Bacon, undaunted, raised his grating voice — 

"This honey which, in some sort, may be styled 

The Spettle of the Stars . . ." "Bring the Canary!" 

Ben Jonson roared. "It is a moral wine 

And suits the third, last canto!" At one draught 

John Davis drained it and began anew. 



318 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

CANTO THE THIED 

A month went by. We were hoisting sail! 

We had lost all hope of Bill; 
Though, laugh as you may at a seaman's tale, 

He was fast in his honey-comb still! 
And often he thinks of the chaplain's word 

In the days he shall see no more, — 
How the Sweet, indeed, of the Sour hath need; 

And the Sea, likewise, of the Shore. 

Chorus: The chaplain's word of the Air and a Bird; 
Of the Sea, likewise, and the Shore! 

"0, had I the wings of a dove, I would fly 

To a heaven, of aloes and gall! 
I have honeyed," he j^ammers, "my nose and mine 
eye, 

And the bees cannot sting me at all! 
And it's O, for the sting of a little brown bee. 

Or to blister my hands on a rope, 
Or to buffet a thundering broad-side sea 

On a deck like a mountain-slope!" 

Chorus: With her mast snapt short, and a list to port 
And a deck like a mountain-slope. 

But alas, and he thinks of the chaplain's voice 

When that roar from the woods out-break — 
R-r-re-joice\ R-r-re-joicel "Now, wherefore rejoice 

In the music a bear could make? 
'Tis a judgment, maybe, that I stick in this tree; 

Yet in this I out-argued him fair! 
Though I live, though I die, in this honey-comb pie, 

By Pope Joan, there's no sense in a bear!" 

Chorus: Notes in a nightingale, plums in a pie, 
By'r Lakin, no Sense in a Bear! 

He knew not our anchor was heaved from the mud: 

He was growling it over again. 
When — a strange sound suddenly froze his blood. 

And curdled his big slow brain ! — 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 319 

A marvellous sound, as of great steel claws 

Gripping the bark of his tree, 
Softly ascended! Like lightning ended 

His honey-comb reverie! 

Chorus: The honey-comb quivered! The little leaves 
shivered ! 
Something was climbing the tree! 

Something that breathed like a fat sea-cook. 

Or a pirate of fourteen ton! 
But it clomb like a cat (tho' the whole tree shook) 

Stealthily tow'rds the sun, 
Till, as Black Bill gapes at the little blue ring 

Overhead, which he calls the sky, 
It is clean blotted out by a monstrous Thing 

Which — hath larded its nose and its eye. 

Chorut: 0, well for thee. Bill, that this monstrous Thing 
Hath blinkered its little red eye. 

Still as a mouse lies Bill with his face 

Low down in the dark sweet gold. 
While this monster turns round in the leaf-fringed 
space! 

Then — taking a good firm hold. 
As the skipper descending the cabin-stair, 
Tail-first with a vast slow tread, 
Solemnly, softly, cometh this Bear 

Straight down o'er the Bo'sun's head. 

Chorus: Solemnly — slowly — cometh this Bear, 
Tail-first o'er the Bo'sun's head. 

Nearer — nearer — then all Bill's breath 

Out-bursts in one leap and yell ! 
And this Bear thinks, "Now am I gripped from 
beneath 

By a roaring devil from hell!" 
And madly Bill clutches his brown bow-lej^s, 

And madly this Bear doth hale, 
With his little red eyes fear-mad for the skies 

And Bill's teeth fast in his tail! 



320 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Chorus: Small wonder a Bear should quail! 

To have larded his nose, to have greased his eyes, 
And be stung at the last in his tail. 

Pull, Bo'sun! Pull, Bear! In the hot sweet gloom, 

Pull Bruin, pull Bill, for the skies! 
Pull — out of their gold with a bombard's boom 

Come Black Bill's honeyed thighs! 
Pull! Up! Up! Up! with a scuffle and scramble. 

To that little blue ring of bliss, 
This Bear doth go with our Bo'sun in tow 

Stinging his tail, I wis. 

Chorus: And this Bear thinks — "Many great bees I knoWp 
But there never was Bee like this!" 



AH in the gorgeous death of day 

We had slipped from our emerald creek, 
And our Clo^id i' the Sun was careening away 

With the old gay flag at the peak, 
When, suddenly, out of the purple wood. 

Breast-high thro' the lilies there danced 
A tall lean figure, black as a nigger. 

That shouted and waved and pranced! 

Chorus: A gold-greased figure, but black as a nigger, 
Waving his shirt as he pranced! 

" 'Tis Hylas! 'Tis Hylas!" our chaplain flutes, 

Ajid our skipper he looses a shout! 
'"Tis Bill! Black Bill, in his old sea-boots! 

Stand by to bring her about! 
Har-r-rd a-starboard!" And round we came, 

With a lurch and a dip and a roll. 
And a banging boom thro' the rose-red gloom 

For our old Black Bo'sun's soul! 

Chorus: Alive! Not dead! Tho' behind his head 
He'd a seraphin's aureole! 



BLACK BILL'S HONEY-MOON 321 

And our chaplain he sniffs, as Bill finished his tale, 

(With the honey still scenting his hair!) 
O'er a plate of salt beef and a mug of old ale — 

"By Pope Joan, there's no sense in a bear!" 
And we laughed, but our Bo'sun he solemnly growls 

— "Till the sails of yon heavens be furled, 
It taketh — now, mark ! — all the beasts in the Ark, 

Teeth and claws, too, to make a good world!" 

Chorus: Till the great — blue — sails — be — furled. 

It taketh — now, mark! — all the beasts in the Ark, 
Teeth and claws, too, to make a good world ! 



"Sack! Sack! Canary! Malmsey! Muscadel!"— 

As the last canto ceased, the Mermaid Inn 

Chorussed. I flew from laughing voice to voice; 

But, over all the hubbub, rose the drone 

Of Francis Bacon, — "Now, this Muscovy 

Is a cold clime, not favourable to bees 

(Or love, which is a weakness of the south) 

As well might be supposed. Yet, as hot lands 

Gender hot fruits and odoriferous spice, 

In this case we may think that honey and flowers 

Are comparable with the light airs of May 

And a more temperate region. Also we see, 

As Pliny saith, this honey being a swette 

Of heaven, a certain spettle of the stars. 

Which, gathering unclean vapours as it falls, 

Hangs as a fat dew on the boughs, the bees 

Obtain it partly thus, and afterwards 

Corrupt it in their stomachs, and at last*' 

Expel it through their mouths and harvest it 

In hives; yet, of its heavenly source it keeps 

A great part. Thus, by various principles 

Of natural philosophy we observe — " 

And, as he leaned to Drayton, droning thus, 

I saw a light gleam of celestial mirth 

Flit o'er the face of Shakespeare — scarce a smile — 

A swift irradiation from within 

As of a cloud that softly veils the sun. 

21 



322 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

IV 

THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN SHOE 

We had just set our brazier smouldering, 

To keep the Plague away. Many a house 

Was marked with the red cross. The bells tolled 

Incessantly. Nash crept into the room 

Shivering like a fragment of the night, 

His face yellow as parchment, and his eyes 

Burning. 

"The Plague! He has taken it!" voices cried. 
"That's not the Plague! The old carrion-crow is drunk; 
But stand away. What ails you, Nash my lad?" 
Then, through the clamour, as through a storm at sea, 
The master's voice, the voice of Ben, rang out, 
"Nash!" 

Ben leapt to his feet, and like a ship 
Shouldering the waves, he shouldered the throng aside. 
"What ails you, man? What's that upon your breast? 
Blood?" 

"Marlowe is dead," said Nash, 
And stunned the room to silence . . . 

* ' Marlowe — dead ! " 
Ben caught him by the shoulders. "Nash! Awake! 
What do you mean? Marlowe? Kit Marlowe? Dead? 
I supped with him — why — not three nights ago! 
You are drunk! You are dazed! There's blood upon your 

coat!" 
"That's — where he died," said Nash, and suddenly sank 
Sidelong across a bench, bowing his head 
Between his hands . . . 
Wept, I b2iieve. Then, like a whip 31 steel, 
His lean black figure sprang erect again. 
"Marlowe!" he cried, "Kit Marlowe, killed for a punk- 
A taffeta petticoat! Killed by an apple-squire! 
Drunk! I was drunk; but I am sober now, 
Sober enough, by God! Poor Kit is dead." 



THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN SHOE 323 

The Mermaid Inn was thronged for many a night 
With startled faces. Voices rose and fell, 
As I recall them, in a great vague dream, 
Curious, pitiful, angry, thrashing out 
The tragic truth. Then, all along the Cheape, 
The ballad-mongers waved their sheets of rhyme, 
Croaking: Come buy! Come buy! The bloody death 
Of Wormall, writ by Master Richard Banie! 
Come buy! Come buy! The AtJieist's Tragedy. 
And, even in Bread Street, at our very door. 
The crowder to his cracked old fiddle sang: — 

"He was a poet of proud repute 
And wrote full many a play, 
NoiD strutting in a silken suit, 
Noio begging by the way." 

Then, out of the hubbub and the clash of tongues, 
The bawdy tales and scraps of balladry, 
(As out of chaos rose the slow round world) 
At last, though for the Mermaid Inn alone, 
Emerged some tragic semblance of a soul. 
Some semblance of the rounded truth, a world 
Glimpsed only through great mists of blood and tears, 
Yet smitten, here and there, with dreadful light. 
As I believe, from heaven. 

Strangely enough, 
(Though Ben forgot his pipe and Will's deep eyes 
Deepened and softened, when they spoke of Kit, 
For many a month thereafter) it was Nash 
That took the blow like steel into his heart. 
Nash, our "Piers Penniless," whom Rob Greene had called 
"Young Juvenal," the first satirist of our age, 
Nash, of the biting tongue and subtle sneer, 
Brooded upon it, till his grief became 
Sharp as a rapier, ready to lunge in hate 
At all the lies of shallower hearts. 

One night. 
The night he raised the mists from that wild world, 
He talked v/ith Chapman in the Mermaid Inn 
Of Marlowe's poem that was left half-sung, 
His Hero and Leander. 



324 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

"Kit desired, 
If he died first, that you should finish it," 
Said Nash. 

A loaded silence filled the room 
As with the imminent spirit of the dead 
Listening. And long that picture haunted me: 
Nash, like a lithe young Mephistopheles 
Leaning between the silver candle-sticks, 
Across the oak table, with his keen white face, 
Dark smouldering eyes, and black, dishevelled hair; 
Chapman, with something of the steady strength 
That helms our ships, and something of the Greek, 
The cool clear passion of Platonic thought 
Behind the fringe of his Olympian beard 
And broad Homeric brows, confronting him 
Gravely. 

There was a burden of mystery 
Brooding on all that night; and, when at last 
Chapman replied, I knew he felt it, too. 
The curious pedantry of his wonted speech 
Was charged with living undertones, like truths 
Too strange and too tremendous to be breathed 
Save thro' a mask. And though, in lines that flamed 
Once with strange rivalry, Shakespeare himself defied 
Chapman, that spirit "bj^ spirits taught to write 
Above a mortal pitch," Will's nimbler sense 
Was quick to breathings from beyond our world 
And could not hold them lightly. 

"Ah, then Kit," 
Said Chapman, "had some prescience of his end, 
Like many another dreamer. What strange hints 
Of things past, present, and to come, there lie 
Sealed in the magic pages of that music 
Which, laying strong hold on universal laws, 
Ranges beyond these mud-walls of the flesh, 
Though dull wits fail to follow. It was this 
That made men find an oracle in the books 
Of Vergil, and an everlasting fount 
Of science in the prophets." 

Once again 
That haunted silence filled the shadowy room; 



THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN SHOE 325 

And, far away up Bread Street, we could hear 
The crowder, piping of black Wormall still: — 

^'He had a friend, once gay and green, 

Who died of want alone, 
In whose black fate he might have seen 

The warning of his own." 

"Strange he should ask a hod-man like myself 

To crown that miracle of his April age," 

Said Chapman, murmuring softly under breath, 

" Amorous Leander , beautiful and ijoung . . . 

Why, Nash, had I been only charged to raise 

Out of its grave in the green Hellespont 

The body of that boy, 

To make him sparkle and leap thro' the cold waves 

And fold young Hero to his heart again, 

The task were scarce as hard. 

But . . . stranger still/' — 
And his next words, although I hardly knew 
All that he meant, went tingling through my flesh— 
"Before you spoke, before I knew his wish, 
I had begun to write! 

I knew and loved 
His work. Himself I hardly knew at all; 
And yet — I know him now! I have heard him now 
And, since he pledged me in so rare a cup, 
I'll lift and drink to him, though lightnings fall 
From envious gods to scourge me. I will lift 
This cup in darkness to the soul that reigns 
In light on Helicon. Who knows how near? 
For I have thought, sometimes, when I have tried 
To work his will, the hand that moved my pen 
Was mine, and yet — not mine. The bodily mask 
Is mine, and sometimes, dull as clay, it sleeps 
With old Musseus. Then strange flashes come. 
Oracular glories, visionary gleams. 
And the mask moves, not of itself, and sings." 

"I know that thought," said Nash. "A mighty ship, 
A lightning-shattered wreck, out in that night, 
Unseen, has foundered thundering. We sit here 



326 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Snug on the shore, and feel the wash of it, 

The widening circles running to our feet. 

Can such a soul go down to glut the sharks 

Without one ripple? Here comes one sprinkle of spray. 

Listen!" And through that night, quick and intense, 

And hushed for thunder, tingled once again. 

Like a thin wire, the crowder's distant tune: — 

"Had he been prenticed to the trade 

His father folloived still, 
This exit he had never made, 

Nor played a part so ill." 

"Here is another," said Nash, "I know not why; 

But like a weed in the long wash, I too 

Was moved, not of myself, to a tune like this. 

O, I can play the crowder, fiddle a song 

On a dead friend, with any the best of you. 

Lie and kick heels in the sun on a dead man's grave 

And yet — God knows — it is the best we can; 

And better than the world's way, to forget." 

So saying, like one that murmurs happy words 

To torture his own grief, half in self-scorn. 

He breathed a scrap of balladry that raised 

The mists a moment from that Paradise, 

That primal world of innocence, where Kit 

In childhood played, outside his father's shop, 

Under the sign of the Golden Shoe, as thus: — 

A cobbler lived in Canterbury 
— He is dead now, poor soul! — 
He sat at his door and stitched in the sun. 
Nodding and smUing at everyone; 
For St. Hugh makes all good cobblers merry. 
And often he sang as the pilgrims passed, 
"I can hammer a soldier's boot. 
And daintily glove a dainty foot. 
Many a sandal from my hand 
Has walked the road to Holy Land. 
Knights may fight for me, priests may pray for me. 
Pilgrims walk the pilgrim's way for me, 



THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN SHOE 327 

I have a work in the world to do! 
— Trowl the howl, the nut-brown bowl, 

To good St. Hugh!— 
The cobbler must stick to his last." 



And anon he would cry 
"Kit! Kit! Kit!" to his little son, 
"Look at the pilgrims riding by! 
Dance down, hop down, after them, run!" 
Then, like an unfledged linnet, out 
Would tumble the brave little lad, 
With a piping shout, — 

"0, look at them, look at them, look at them, Dad! 
Priest and prioress, abbot and friar. 
Soldier and seaman, knight and squire! 
How many countries have they seen? 
Is there a king there, is there a queen? 
Dad, one day, 

Thou and I must ride like this. 
All along the Pilgrim's Way, 
By Glastonbury and Samarcand, 
El Dorado and Cathay, 
London and Persepolis, 
All the way to Holy Land!" 



Then, shaking his head as if he knew, 
Under the sign of the Golden Shoe, 
Touched by the glow of the setting sun, 
While the pilgrims passed, 
The little cobbler would laugh and say: 
"When you are old you will understand 
'Tis a very long way 
To Samarcand! 
Why, largely to exaggerate 
Befits not men of small estate, 
But — I should say, yes, I should say, 
'Tis a hundred miles from where you stand; 
And a hundred more, my little son, 
A hundred more, to Holy Land! . . . 



328 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

I have a work in the world to do 
— Trowl the bowl, the nut-hroum howl, 

To good St. Hv^h!— 
The cobbler must stick to his last." 

"Which last," said Nash, breaking his rhyme off short, 
"The crowder, after his kind, would seem to approve. 
Well — all the waves from that great wreck out there 
Break, and are lost in one withdrawing sigh: 

The little lad that used to play- 
Around the cobbler's door. 

Kit Marlowe, Kit Marlowe, 
We shall not see him more. 

But — could I tell you how that galleon sank, 
Could I but bring you to that hollow whirl, 
The black gulf in mid-ocean, where that wreck 
Went thundering down, and round it hell still roars, 
That were a tale to snap all fiddle-strings." 
"Tell me," said Chapman. 

"Ah, you wondered why," 
Said Nash, "you wondered why he asked your help 
To crown that work of his. Why, Chapman, think. 
Think of the cobbler's awl — there's a stout lance 
To couch at London, there's a conquering point 
To carry in triumph through Persepolis! 
I tell you Kit was nothing but a child. 
When some rich patron of the Golden Shoe 
Beheld him riding into Samarcand 
Upon a broken chair, the which he said 
Was a white steed, splashed with the blood of kings. 

When, on that patron's bounty, he did ride 
So far as Cambridge, he was a brave lad. 
Untamed, adventurous, but still innocent, 
O, innocent as the cobbler's little self! 
He brought to London just a bundle and stick, 
A slender purse, an Ovid, a few scraps 
Of song, and all unshielded, all unarmed 
A child's heart, packed with splendid hopes and dreams, 
I say a child's heart. Chapman, and that phrase 
Crowns, not dis-crowns, his manhood. 



THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN SHOE 329 

Well — he turned 
An honest penny, taking some small part 
In plays at the Red Bull. And, all the while. 
Beyond the paint and tinsel of the stage, 
Beyond the greasy cock-pit with its reek 
Of orange-peel and civet, as all of these 
Were but the clay churned by the glorious rush 
Of his white chariots and his burning steeds. 
Nay, as the clay were a shadow, his great dreams, 
Like bannered legions on some proud crusade. 
Empurpling all the deserts of the world. 
Swept on in triumph to the glittering towers 
Of his abiding City. 

Then — he met 
That damned blood-sucking cockatrice, the pug 
Of some fine strutting mummer, one of those plagues 
Bred by our stage, a puff-ball on the hill 
Of Helicon. As for his wench — she too 
Had played so many parts that she forgot 
The cue for truth. King Puff had taught her well. 
He was the vainer and more foolish thing, 
She the more poisonous. 

One dark day, to spite 
Archer, her latest paramour, a friend 
And apple-squire to Puff, she set her eyes 
On Marlowe . . . feigned a joy in his young art, 
Murmured his songs, used all her London tricks 
To coney-catch the country greenhorn. Man, 
Kit never even saw her painted face! 
He pored on books by candle-light and saw 
Everything thro' a mist. 0, I could laugh 
To think of it, only — his up-turned skull 
There, in the dark, now that the flesh drops off, 
Has laughed enough, a horrible silent laugh, 
To think his Angel of Light was, after all. 
Only the red-lipped Angel of the Plague. 
He was no better than the rest of us, 
No worse. He felt the heat. He felt the cold. 
He took her down to Deptford to escape 
Contagion, and the crashing of sextons' spades 
On dead men's bones in every churchyard round; 



330 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

The jangling bell and the cry, Bring out your dead. 

And there she told him of her luckless life, 

Wedded, deserted, both against her will, 

A luckless Eve that never knew the snake. 

True and half-true she mixed in one wild lie. 

And then — she caught him by the hand and wept. 

No death-cart passed to warn him with its bell. 

Her eyes, her perfumed hair, and her red mouth. 

Her warm white breast, her civet-scented skin, 

Swimming before him, in a piteous mist, 

]}iade the lad drunk, and — she was in his arms; 

And all that God had meant to wake one day 

Under the Sun of Love, suddenly woke 

By candle-light and cried, 'The Sun; The Sun!' 

And be believed it. Chapman, he believed it! 

He was a cobbler's son, and he believed 

In Love! Blind, through that mist, he caught at Love, 

The everlasting King of all this world. 

Kit was not clever. Clever men — like Pomp — 
Might jest. And fools might laugh. But when a man, 
Simple as all great elemental things, 
Makes his whole heart a sacrificial fire 
To one whose love is in her supple skin. 
There comes a laughter in which jests break up 
Like icebergs in a sea of burning marl. 
Then dreamers turn to murderers in an hour. 
Then topless towers are burnt, and the Ocean-sea 
Tramples the proud fleet, down, into the dark. 
And sweeps over it, laughing. Come and see, 
The heart now of this darkness — no more waves, 
But the black central hollow where that TVTeck 
Went down for ever. 

How should Piers Penniless 
Brand that wild picture on the world's black heart? — 
Last night I tried the way of the Florentine, 
And bruised myself; but we are friends together 
Mourning a dead friend, none will ever know! — 
Kit, do you smile at poor Piers Penniless, 
Measuring it out? Ah, boy, it is my best! 
Since hearts must beat, let it be terza rima, 



THE SIGN OP THE GOLDEN SHOE 331 

A ladder of rhyme that two sad friends alone 
May let down, thus, to the last circle of hell." 

So saying, and motionless as a man in trance, 

Nash breathed the words that raised the veil anew. 

Strange intervolving words which, as he spake them, 

Moved like the huge slow whirlpool of that pit 

Where the wreck sank, the serpentine slow folds 

Of the lewd Kraken that sucked it, shuddering, down: — • '> 

This is the Deptford Inn. Climb the dark stair. 
Come, come and see Kit Marlowe lying dead! 
See, on the table, by that broken chair, 

The little phials of paint — the white and red. 
A cut-lawn kerchief hangs behind the door, 
Left by his punk, even as the tapster said. 

There is the gold-fringed taffeta gown she wore, 

And, on that wine-stained bed, as is most meet, 
He lies alone, never to waken more. 

0, still as chiselled marble, the frayed sheet 

Folds the still form on that sepulchral bed, 
Hides the dead face, and peaks the rigid feet. 

Come, come and see Kit Marlowe lying dead! 
Draw back the sheet, ah, tenderly lay bare 
The splendour of that Apollonian head; 

The gloriole of his flame-coloured hair; 

The lean athletic body, deftly planned 
To carry that swift soul of fire and air; 

The long thin flanks, the broad breast, and the grand 

Heroic shoulders! Look, what lost dreams lie 
Cold in the fingers of that delicate hand; 

And, shut within those lyric lips, what cry 

Of unborn beauty, sunk in utter night, 
Lost worlds of song, sealed in an unknown sky, 



332 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Never to be brought forth, clothed on with light. 

Was this, then, this the secret of his song? — 
Who ever loved that loved not at first sight? 

It was not Love, not Love, that wrought this wrong; 

And yet — what evil shadow of this dark town 
Could quench a soul so flame-like clean and strong, 

Strike the young glory of his manhood down. 
Dead, like a dog, dead in a drunken brawl. 
Dead for a phial of paint, a taffeta gown? 

What if his blood were hot? High over all 

He heard, as in his song the world still hears, 
Those angels on the burning heavenly wall 

Who chant the thunder-music of the spheres. 

Yet — through the glory of his own young dream 
Here did he meet that face, wet with strange tears, 

Andromeda, with piteous face astream. 

Hailing him, Perseus. In her treacherous eyes 
As in dark pools the mirrored stars will gleam, 

Here did he see his own eternal skies; 

And here — she laughed, nor found the dream amiss; 
But bade him pluck and eat — in Paradise. 

Here did she hold him, broken up with bliss. 

Here, like a supple snake, around him coiled, 
Here did she pluck his heart out with a kiss. 

Here were the wings clipped and the glory soiled, 

Here adders coupled in the pure white shrine. 
Here was the Wine spilt, and the Shew-bread spoiled. 

Black was that feast, though he who poured the Wine 

Dreamed that he poured it in high sacrament. 
Deep in her eyes he saw his own eyes shine. 



THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN SHOE 333 

Beheld Love's god-head and was well content. 
Subtly her hand struck the pure silver note, 
The throbbing chord of passion that God meant 

To swell the bliss of heaven. Round his young throat 

She wound her swarthy tresses; then, with eyes 
Half mad to see their power, half mad to gloat, 

Half mad to batten on their own devilries. 

And mark what heaven-born splendours they could quell, 
She held him quivering in a mesh of lies, 

Aijd in soft broken speech began to tell — 

There as, against her heart, throbbing he lay — 
The truth that hurled his soul from heaven to hell. 

Quivering, she watched the subtle whip-lash flay 

The white flesh of the dreams of his pure youth; 
Then sucked the blood and left them cold as clay. 

Luxuriously she lashed him with the truth. 

Against his mouth her subtle mouth she set 
To show, as through a mask, 0, without ruth, 

As through a cold clay mask (brackish and wet 

With what strange tears!) it was not his, not his, 
The kiss that through his quivering lips she met. 

Kissing him, ''Thus,'' she whispered, "did he kiss. 

Ah, is the sweetness like a sword, then, sweet? 
Last night — ah, kiss again — aching with bliss, 

Thus was I made his own, from head to feet." 

— A sudden agony thro' his body swept 
Tempestuously. — "Our wedded pulses beat 

Like this and this; and then, at dawn, he slept." 

She laughed, pouting her lips against his cheek 
To drink; and, as in answer, Marlowe wept. 



334 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

As a dead man in dreams, he heard her speak. 

Clasped in the bitter grave of that sweet clay, 
Wedded and one with it, he moaned. Too weak 

Even to lift his head, sobbing, he lay. 

Then, slowly, as their breathings rose and fell. 
He felt the storm of passion, far away, 

Gather. The shuddering waves began to sv/ell. 
And, through the menace of the thunder-roll. 
The thin quick lightnings, thrilling through his hell. 

Lightnings that hell itself could not control 

(Even while she strove to bow his neck anew) 
Woke the great slumbering legions of his soul. 

Sharp was that severance of the false and true, 

Sharp as a sword drawn from a shuddering wound. 
But they, that were one flesh, were cloven in two. 

Flesh leapt from clasping flesh, without a sound. 
He plucked his body from her white embrace, 
And cast him down, and grovelled on the ground. 

Yet, ere he went, he strove once more to trace, 

Deep in her eyes, the loveliness he knew; 
Then — spat his hatred into her smiling face. 

She clung to him. He flung her off. He drew 

His dagger, thumbed the blade, and laughed — "Poor punk! 
What? Would you make me your own murderer, too?" 



"That was the day of our great feast," said Nash, 
"Aboard the Golden Hynde. The grand old hulk 
Was drawn up for the citizens' wonderment 
At Deptford. Ay, Piers Penniless was there! 
Soaked and besotted as I was, I saw 
Everything. On her poop the minstrels played, 
And round her sea-worn keel, like meadow-sweet 
Curtseying round a lightning-blackened oak, 



THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN SHOE 335 

Prentices and their sweethearts, heel and toe, 
Danced the brave English dances, clean and fresh 
As May. 

But in her broad gun-guarded waist 
Once red with British blood, long tables groaned 
For revellers not so worthy. Where her guns 
Had raked the seas, barrels of ale were sprung, 
Bestrid by roaring tipplers. Where at night 
The storm-beat crew silently bowed their heads 
With Drake before the King of Life and Death, 
A strumpet wrestled with a mountebank 
For pence, a loose-limbed Lais with a clown 
Of Cherry Hilton. Leering at their lewd twists, 
Cross-legged upon the deck, sluggish with sack. 
Like a squat toad sat Puff . . . 
Propped up against the bulwarks, at his side, 
Archer, his apple-squire, hiccoughed a bawdy song. 

Suddenly, through that orgy, with wild eyes, 
Yet with her customary smile, O, there 
I saw in daylight what Kit Marlowe saw 
Through blinding mists, the face of his first love. 
She stood before her paramour on the deck, 
Cocking her painted head to right and left. 
Her white teeth smiling, but her voice a hiss: 
'Quickly,' she said to Archer, 'come away, 
Or there'll be blood spilt!' 

' Better blood than wine,' 
Said Archer, struggling to his feet, 'but who, 
Who would spill blood?' 

'Marlowe!' she said. 

Then Puff 
Reeled to his feet. 'What, Kit, the cobbler's son? 
The lad that broke his leg at the Red Bull, 
Tamburlaine-Marlowe, he that would chain kings 
To's chariot- wheel? What, is he rushing hither? 
He would spill blood for Gloriana, hey? 
O, my Belphoebe, you will crack my sides! 
Was this the wench that shipped a thousand squires? 
O, ho! But here he comes. Now, solemnly, lads, — 
Now walk the angels on the walls of heaven 
To entertain divine Zenocrate!' 



336 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

And there stood Kit, high on the storm-scarred poop, 

Against the sky, bare-headed, I saw his face, 

Pale, innocent, just the clear face of that boy 

Who walked to Cambridge with a bundle and stick, — 

The little cobbler's son. Yet — there I caught 

My only glimpse of how the sun-god looked, 

And only for one moment. 

When he saw 
His mistress, his face whitened, and he shook. 
Down to the deck he came, a poor weak man; 
And yet — by God — the only man that day 
In all our drunken crew. 

'Come along. Kit,' 
Cried Puff, 'we'll all be friends now, all take hands, 
And dance — ha! ha! — the shaking of the sheets!' 
Then Archer, shufhing a step, raised his cracked voice 
In Kit's own song to a falsetto tune. 
Snapping one hand, thus, over his head as he danced :- 

'Come, live xoith me, and he my love. 
And we will all the pleasures prove!' . . . 



Puff reeled between, laughing. 'Damn you,' cried Kit, 
And, catching the fat swine by his round soft throat. 
Hurled him headlong, crashing across the tables, 
To lie and groan in the red bilge of wine 
That washed the scuppers. 

Kit gave him not one glance. 
'Archer,' he said in a whisper. 

Instantly 
A long thin rapier flashed in Archer's hand. 
The ship was one wild uproar. Women screamed 
And huddled together. A drunken clamorous ring" 
Seethed around Marlowe and his enemy. 
Kit drew his dagger, slowly, and I knew 
Blood would be spilt. 

'Here, take my rapier. Kit!' 
I cried across the crowd, seeing the lad 
Was armed so slightly. But he did not hear. 
I could not reach him. 



THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN SHOE 337 

All at once he leapt 
Like a wounded tiger, past the rapier point 
Straight at his enemy's throat. I saw his hand 
Up-raised to strike! I heard a harlot's scream, 
And, in mid-air, the hand stayed, quivering, white, 
A frozen menace. 

I saw a yellow claw 
Twisting the dagger out of that frozen hand; 
I saw his own steel in that yellow grip. 
His own lost lightning raised to strike at him! 
I saw it flash! I heard the driving grunt 
Of him that struck! Then, with a shout, the crowd 
Sundered, and through the gap, a blank red thing 
Streaming with blood came the blind face of Kit, 
Reeling, to me! And I, poor drunken I, 
Held my arms wide for him. Here, on my breast, 
With one great sob, he burst his heart and died." 

Nash ceased. And, far away down Friday Street, 
The crowder with his fiddler wailed again: 

"Blaspheming TamboUn must die 

And Faustus meet his end. 
Repent, repent, or presentlie 

To hell ye must descend." 

And, as in answer, Chapman slowly breathed 
Those mightiest lines of Marlowe's own despair: 

" Think'st thou that I who saw the face of God, ' 

And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, 

Am not tormented with ten thousand hells?" 

"Ah, you have said it," said Nash, "and there you know 
Why Kit desired your hand to crown his work. 
He reverenced you as one whose temperate eyes 
Austere and grave, could look him through and through; 
One whose firm hand could grasp the reins of law 
And guide those furious horses of the sun. 
As Ben and WUl can guide them, where you will. 
His were, perchance, the noblest steeds of all, 

22 



338 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

And from their nostrils blew a fierier dawn 

Above the world. That glory is his own; 

But where he fell, he fell. Before his hand 

Had learned to quell them, he was dashed to the earth. 

'Tis yours to show that good men honoured him. 

For, mark this, Chapman, since Kit Marlowe fell, 

There will be fools that, in the name of Art, 

Will wallow in the mire, crying ' I fall, 

I fall from heaven ! ' — fools that have only heard 

From earth, the rumour of those golden hooves 

Far, far above them. Yes, you know the kind, 

The fools that scorn Will for his lack of fire 

Because he quells the storms they never knew, 

And rides above the thunder; fools of Art 

That skip and vex, like little vicious fleas. 

Their onl}^ Helicon, some green madam's breast. 

Art! Art! O, God, that I could send my soul, 

In one last wave, from that night-hidden wreck, 

Across the shores of all the years to be; 

O, God, that like a crowder I might shake 

Their blind dark casements with the pity of it, 

Piers Penniless his ballad, a poor scrap. 

That but for lack of time, and hope and pence. 

He might have bettered! For a dead man's sake, 

Thus would the wave break, thus the crowder cry; — 



Dead, like a dog upon the road; 

Dead, for a harlot's kiss; 
The Apollonian throat and brow, 
The lyric lips, so silent now, 
The flaming wings that heaven bestowed 

For loftier airs than this! 



The sun-like eyes whose light and life 

Had gazed an angel's down, 
That burning heart of honey and fire. 
Quenched and dead for an apple-squire. 
Quenched at the thrust of a mummer's knife, 

Dead — for a taffeta gown! 



THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN SHOE 339 

The wine that God had set apart, 

The noblest wine of all, 
Wine of the grapes that angels trod, 
The vintage of the glory of God, 
The crimson wine of that rich heart, 

SpUt in a drunken brawl, 

Poured out to make a steaming bath 

That night in the Devil's Inn, 
A steaming bath of living wine 
Poured out for Circe and her swine, 
A bath of blood for a harlot 

To supple and sleek her skin. 

And many a fool that finds it sweet 

Through all the years to be, 
Crowning a lie with Marlowe's fame, 
Will ape the sin, will ape the shame. 
Will ape our captain in defeat; 

But — not in victory; 

Till Art become a leaping-house. 

And Death be crowned as Life, 
And one wild jest outshine the soul 
Of Truth ... 0, fool, is this your goal? 
You are not our Kit Marlowe, 

But the drunkard with the knife; 

Not Marlowe, but the Jack-o'-Lent 

That lured him o'er the fen! 
O, ay, the tavern is in its place. 
And the punk's painted smiling face, 
But where is our Kit Marlowe 

The man, the king of men? 

Passion? You kiss the painted mouth, 

The hand that clipped his wings. 
The hand that into his heart she thrust 
And tuned him to her whimpering lust. 
And played upon his quivering youth 

As a crowder plucks the strings. 



340 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

But he who dared the thunder-roll, 

Whose eagle-wings could soar, 

Buffeting down the clouds of night, 

To beat against the Light of Light, 

That great God-blinded eagle-soul, 

We shall not see him more." 



V 

THE COMPANION OF A MILE 

Thwack! Thwack! One early dawn upon our door 

I heard the bladder of some motley fool 

Bouncing, and all the dusk of London shook 

With bells ! I leapt from bed, — had I forgotten? — 

I flung my casement wide and craned my neck 

Over the painted Mermaid. There he stood. 

His right leg yeUow and his left leg blue. 

With jingling cap, a sheep-bell at his tail. 

Wielding his eel-skin bladder, — bang! thwack! bang! — 

Catching a comrade's head with the recoil 

And skipping away! All Bread Street dimly burned 

Like a reflected sky, green, red and white 

With littered branches, ferns and hawthorn-clouds; 

For, round Sir Fool, a frolic morrice-troop 

Of players, poets, prentices, mad-cap queans, 

Robins and Marians, coloured like the dawn, 

And sparkling like the greenwood whence they came 

With their fresh boughs aU dewy from the dark. 

Clamoured, Come down! Come down, and let us in! 

High over these, I suddenly saw Sir Fool 

Leap to a sign-board, swing to a conduit-head, 

And perch there, gorgeous on the morning sky. 

Tossing his crimson cockscomb to the blue 

And crowing like Chanticleer, Give them a rouse! 

Tickle it, tabourer! Nimbly, lasses, nimbly! 

Tuck up your russet petticoats and dance! 

Let the Cheape know it is the first of May! 



THE COMPANION OF A MILE 341 

And as I seized shirt, doublet and trunk-hose, 

I saw the hobby-horse come cantering down, 

A pasteboard steed, dappled a rosy white 

Like peach-bloom, bridled with purple, bitted with gold, 

A crimson foot-cloth on his royal flanks, 

And, riding him. His Majesty of the May! 

Round him the whole crowd frolicked with a shout, 

And as I stumbled down the crooked stair 

I heard them break into a dance and sing: — 



SONG 



Into the woods we'll trip and go, 
Up and down and to and fro, 
Under the moon to fetch in May, 
And two by two till break of day, 

A-maying, 

A-playing, 
For Love knows no gain-saying! 
Wisdom trips not? Even so — 
Come, young lovers, trip and go, 

Trip and go. 



II 



Out of the woods we'll dance and sing 
Under the morning-star of Spring, 
Into the town with our fresh boughs 
And knock at every sleeping house, 

Not sighing, 

Or crying. 
Though Love knows no denying! 
Then, round your summer queen and king, 
Come, young lovers, dance and sing. 

Dance and sing! 



342 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

"Chorus," the great Fool tossed his gorgeous crest, 
And lustily crew against the deepening dawn, 
"Chorus," till all the Cheape caught the refrain, 
And, with a double thunder of frolic feet. 
Its ancient nut-brown tabors woke the Strand: — 

A-maying, 

A-playing, 
For Love knows no gain-saying! 
Wisdom trips not? Even so, — 
Come, young lovers, trip and go, 

Trip and go. 

Into the Mermaid with a shout they rushed 

As I shot back the bolts, and baTig, thwack, bang, 

The bladder bounced about me. What cared I? 

This was all England's holy-day! "Come in, 

My yellow-hammers," roared the Friar Tuck 

Of this mad morrice, "come you into church, 

My nightingales, my scraps of Lincoln green, 

And hear my sermon!" On a window-seat 

He stood, against the diamonded rich panes 

In the old oak parlour and, throwing back his hood. 

Who should it he but Ben, rare Ben himself? 

The wild troup laughed around him, some a-sprawl 

On tables, kicking parti-coloured heels. 

Some with their Marians jigging on their knees. 

And, in the front of all, the motley fool 

Cross-legged upon the rushes. 

0, I knew him, — 
Will Kemp, the player, who danced from London town 
To Norwich in nine days and was proclaimed 
Freeman of Marchaunt Venturers and hedge-king 
Of English morrice-dancery for ever! 
His nine-days' wonder, through the countryside 
Was hawked by every ballad-monger. Kemp 
Raged at their shake-rag Muses. None but I 
Guessed ever for what reason, since he chose 
His anticks for himself and, in his games. 
Was more than most May-fools fantastical. 
I watched his thin face, as he rocked and crooned, 



THE COMPANION OF A MILE 343 

Shaking the squirrels' tails around his ears; 

And, out of all the players I had seen, 

His face was quickest through its clay to flash 

The passing mood. Though not a muscle stirred, 

The very skin of it seemed to flicker and gleam 

With little summer lightnings of the soul 

At every fleeting fancy. For a man 

So quick to bleed at a pin-prick or to leap 

Laughing through hell to save a butterfly, 

This world was difficult; and perchance he found 

In his fantastic games that open road 

Which even Will Shakespeare only found at last 

In motley and with some wild straws in his hair. 

But "Drawer! drawer!" bellowed Friar Ben, 

"Make ready a righteous breakfast while I preach; — 

Tankards of nut-brown ale, and cold roast beef. 

Cracknels, old cheese, flaunes, tarts and clotted cream. 

Hath any a wish not circumscribed by these?" 

"A white-pot custard, for my white-pot queen," 
Cried Kemp, waving his bauble, "mark this, boy, 
A white-pot custard for my queen of May, — 
She is not here, but that concerns not thee! — 
A white-pot Mermaid custard, with a crust. 
Lashings of cream, eggs, apple-pulse and spice, 
A little sugar and manchet bread. Away! 
Be swift!" 

And as I bustled to and fro, 
The Friar raised his big brown fists again 
And preached in mockery of the Puritans 
Who thought to strip the moonshine wings from Mab, 
Tear down the May-poles, rout our English games. 
And drive all beauty back into the sea. 

Then laughter and chatter and clashing tankards drowned 

All but their May-day jollity a- while. 

But, as their breakfast ended, and I sank 

Gasping upon a bench, there came still more 

Poets and players crowding into the room; 

And one — I only knew him as Sir John — 



344 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Waved a great ballad at Will Kemp and laughed, 
"Atonement, Will, atonement!" 

"What," groaned Kemp, 
"Another penny poet? How many lies 
Does this rogue tell? Sir, I have suffered much 
From these Melpomenes and strawberry quills, 
And think them better at their bloody lines 
On The Blue Lady. Sir, they set to work 
At seven o'clock in the morning, the same hour 
That I, myself, that's Cavaliero Kemp, 
With heels of feather and heart of cork, began 
Frolickly footing, from the great Lord Mayor 
Of London, tow'rds the worshipful Master Mayor 
Of Norwich." 

"Nay, Kemp, this is a May-day tune, 
A morrice of country rhymes, made by a poet 
Who thought it shame so worthy an act as thine 
Should wither in oblivion if the Muse 
With her Castalian showers could keep it green. 
And while the fool nid-nodded all in time. 
Sir John, in swinging measure, trolled this tale: — 



With Georgie Sprat, my overseer, and Thomas Slye, my 
tabourer, 
And William Bee, my courier, when dawn emblazed the 
skies, 
I met a tall young butcher as I danced by little Sudbury, 
Head-master o' morrice-dancers all, high headborough of 
hyes. 



By Sudbury, by Sudbury, by little red-roofed Sudbury, 

He wished to dance a mile with me! I made a courtly bow: 
I fitted him with morrice-bells, with treble, bass and tenor 
bells. 
And " Tickle your tabor, Tom" I cried, "we're going to market 
now." 



THE COMPANION OF A MILE 345 

And rollicking down the lanes we dashed, and frolicking up 
the hills we clashed, 
And like a sail behind me flapped his great white frock 
a-whUe, 
Till, with a gasp, he sank and swore that he could dance with 
me no more; 
And — over the hedge a milk-maid laughed, Not dance with 
him a mile? 

"You lout!" she laughed, "I'll leave my pail, and dance with 
him for cakes and ale! 
I'll dance a mile for love," she laughed, "and win my wager, 
too. 
Your feet are shod and mine are bare; but when could leather 
dance on air? 
A milk-maid's feet can fall as fair and light as falling dew." 

I fitted her with morrice-bells, with treble, bass and tenor 
bells: 
The fore-bells, as I linked them at her throat, how soft 
they sang! 
Green linnets in a golden nest, they chirped and trembled on 
her breast. 
And, faint as elfin blue-bells, at her nut-brown ankles rang. 

I fitted her with morrice-bells that sweetened into woodbine 
bells, 
And trembled as I hung them there and crowned her sunny 
brow: 
"Strike up," she laughed, "my summer king!" And all her 
bells began to ring. 
And ^^ Tickle your tabor, Tom," I cried, ''we're going to 
Sherwood now!" 

When cocks were crowing, and light was growing, and horns 
were blowing, and milk-pails flowing. 
We swam thro' waves of emerald gloom along a chestnut 
aisle. 
Then, up a shining hawthorn-lane, we sailed into the sun 
again. 
Will Kemp and his companion, his companion of a mile. 



346 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

"Truer than most," snarled Kemp, "but mostly lies! 

And why does he forget the miry lanes 

By Brainford with thick woods on either side, 

And the deep holes, where I could find no ease 

But skipped up to my waist?" A crackling laugh 

Broke from his lips which, if he had not worn 

The cap and bells, would scarce have roused the mirth 

Of good Sir John, who roundly echoed it. 

Then waved his hand and said, "Nay, but he treats 

Your morrice in the spirit of Lucian, Will, 

Who thought that dancing was no mushroom growth, 

But sprung from the beginning of the world 

When Love persuaded earth, air, water, fire, 

Ajid all the jarring elements to move 

In measure. Right to the heart of it, my lad. 

The song goes, though the skin mislike you so." 

"Nay, an there's more of it, I'll sing it, too! 

'Tis a fine tale, Sir John, I have it by heart. 

Although 'tis lies throughout." Up leapt Will Kemp, 

And crouched and swayed, and swung his bauble round, 

Making the measure as they trolled the tale, 

Chanting alternately, each answering each. 

II 

The Fool 

The tabor fainted far behind us, but her feet that day 
They beat a rosier morrice o'er the fairy-circled green. 

Sir John 

And o'er a field of buttercups, a field of lambs and buttercups, 
We danced along a cloth of gold, a summer king and queen! 

The Fool 

And straying we went, and swaying we went, with lambkins 
round us playing we went; 
Her face uplift to drink the sun, and not for me her smile, 
We danced, a king and queen of May, upon a fleeting holy- 
day. 
But 0, she'd won her wager, my companion of a mile! 



THE COMPANION OF A MILF 347 

Sir John 

Her rosy lips they never spoke, though every rosy foot-fall 
broke 
The dust, the dust to Eden-bloom; and, past the throb- 
bing blue, 
All ordered to her rhythmic feet, the stars were dancing with 
my sweet, 
And all the world a morrice-dance! 

The Fool 

She knew not; but I knew] 
Love like Amphion with his lyre, made all the elements con- 
spire 
To build His world of music. All in rhythmic rank and file, 
I saw them in their cosmic dance, catch hands across, retire, 
advance. 
For me and my companion, my companion of a mile! 

Sir John 

The little leaves on every tree, the rivers winding to the sea, 
The swinging tides, the wheeling winds, the rolling heavens 
above, 
Around the May-pole Igdrasil, they worked the Morrice- 
master's will, 
Persuaded into measure by the all-creative Love. 

That hour I saw, from depth to height, this wildering universe 
unite! 
The lambs of God around us and His passion in every 
flower! 

The Fool 

His grandeur in the dust, His dust a blaze of blinding majesty, 
And all His immortality in one poor mortal hour. 

And Death was but a change of key in Life the golden melody, 
And Time became Eternity, and Heaven a fleeting smile; 

For all was each and each was all, and all a wedded unity, 
Her heart in mine, and mine in my companion of a mile. 



348 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Thwack! Thwack! He whirled his bauble round about, 

"This fellow beats them all," he cried, "the worst 
Those others wrote was that I hopped from York 
To Paris with a mortar on my head. 
This fellow sends me leaping through the clouds 
To buss the moon! The best is yet to come; 
Strike up, Sir John! Ha! ha! You know no more?" 
Kemp leapt upon a table. "Clear the way, 
He cried, and with a great stamp of his foot 
And a wild crackling laugh, drew all to hark. 

"With hey and ho, through thick and thin, 

The hobby-horse is forgotten. 
But I must finish what I begin, 
Tho' all the roads be rotten. 
**By all those twenty thousand chariots, Ben, 
Hear this true tale they shall ! Now, let me see, 
Where was Will Kemp? Bussing the moon's pale mouth? 
Ah, yes!" He crouched above the listening throng, — 
*'Good as a play," I heard one whispering quean, — 
And, waving his bauble, shuffling with his feet 
In a dance that marked the time, he sank his voice 
As if to breathe great secrets, and so sang : — 



III 



At Melford town, at Melford town, at little grey-roofed 
Melford town, 

A long mile from Sudbury, upon the village green. 
We danced into a merry rout of country-folk that skipt about 

A hobby-horse, a May-pole, and a laughing white-pot queen. 



They thronged about us as we stayed, and there I gave my 
sunshine maid 
An English crown for cakes and ale — her dancing was so 
true! 
And "Nay," she said, "I danced my mile for love!" I 
answered with a smile, 
"'Tis but a silver token, lass, thou'st won that wager, too.'' 



THE COMPANION OF A MILE 349 

I took my leash of morrice-bells, my treble, bass and tenor 

bells, 
They pealed like distant marriage-bells! And up came 

William Bee 
With Georgie Sprat, my overseer, and Thomas Slye, my 

tabourer, 
" Farewell," she laughed, and vanished with a Suffolk 

courtesie. 
I leapt away to Rockland, and from Rockland on to Hing- 

ham. 
From Hingham on to Norwich, sirs! I hardly heard 

a-while 
The throngs that followed after, with their shouting and their 

laughter, 
For a shadow danced beside me, my companion of a mile! 

At Norwich, by St. Giles his gate, I entered, and the Mayor 
in state, 
With all the rosy knights and squires for twenty miles about, 
With trumpets and with minstrelsy, was waiting there to 
welcome me; 
And, as I skipt into the street, the City raised a shout. 

They gave me what I did not seek. I fed on roasted swans a 
week! 
They pledged me in their malmsey, and they lined me 
warm with ale! 
They sleeked my skin with red-deer pies, and all that runs and 
swims and flies; 
But, through the clashing wine-cups, 0, 1 heard her clanking 
pail. 

And, rising from his crimson chair, the worshipful and portly 

Mayor 
Bequeathed me forty shillings every year that I should live. 
With five good angels in my hand that I might drink while I 

could stand! 
They gave me golden angels! What I lacked they could not 

give. 



350 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

They made Will Kemp, thenceforward, sirs, Freeman of 
Marchaunt Venturers! 
They hoped that I would dance again from Norwich up to 
York; 
Then they asked me, all together, had I met with right May 
weather. 
And they praised my heels of feather, and my heart, my 
heart of cork. 



As I came home by Sudbury, by little red-roofed Sudbury, 
I waited for my bare-foot maid, among her satin kine! 

I heard a peal of wedding-bells, of treble, bass and tenor bells : 
"Ring well," I cried, "this bridal morn! You soon shall 
ring for mine!" 

I found her foot-prints in the grass, just where she stood and 
saw me pass. 
I stood within her own sweet field and waited for my may. 
I laughed. The dance has turned about! I stand within: 
she'll pass without. 
And — doivn the road the wedding came, the road I danced that 
day! 

I saw the wedding-folk go by, with laughter and with minstrelsy, 
I gazed across her own sweet hedge, I caught her happy smile, 

I saw the tall young butcher pass to little red-roofed Sudbury, 
His bride upon his arm, my lost companion of a mile. 

Down from his table leapt the motley Fool. 

His bladder bounced from head to ducking head. 

His crackling laugh rang high, — "Sir John, I danced 

In February, and the song says May! 

A fig for all your poets, liars all! 

Away to Fenchurch Street, lasses and lads. 

They hold high revel there this May-day morn. 

Away!" The mad-cap throng echoed the cry. 

He drove them with his bauble through the door; 

Then, as the last gay kerchief fluttered out 

He gave one little sharp sad lingering cry 

As of a lute-string breaking. He turned back 



BIG BEN 351 

And threw himself along a low dark bench; 
His jingling cap was crumpled in his fist, 
And, as he lay there, all along Cheapside 
The happy voices of his comrades rang : — 

Out of the woods we'll dance and sing 
Under the morning-star of Spring, 
Into the town with our fresh boughs 
And knock at every sleeping house, 

Not sighing, 

Or crying. 
Though Love knows no denying! 
Then, round your summer queen and king, 
C!ome, young lovers, dance and sing. 
Dance and sing! 

His motley shoulders heaved. I touched his arm, 
"What ails you, sir?" He raised his thin white face, 
Wet with the May-dew still. A few stray petals 
Clung in his tangled hair. He leapt to his feet, 
"'Twas February, but I danced, boy, danced 
In May! Can you do this?" Forward he bent 
Over his feet, and shuffled it, heel and toe, 
Out of the Mermaid, singing his old song — 

A-maying, 

A-playing, 
For Love knows no gain-saying! 
Wisdom trips not? Even so, — 
Come, young lovers, trip and go. 

Trip and go. 

Five minutes later, over the roaring Strand, 

" Chorus!" I heard him crow, and half the town 

Reeled into music under his crimson comb. 

VI 

BIG BEN 

Gods, what a hubbub shook our cobwebs out 
The day that Chapman, Marston and our Ben 
Waited in Newgate for the hangman's hands. 



352 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Chapman and Marston had been flung there first 
For some imagined insult to the Scots 
In Eastward Ho, the play they wrote with Ben. 
But Ben was famous now, and our brave law 
Would fain have winked and passed the big man by. 
The lesser men had straightway been condemned 
To have their ears cut off, their noses slit. 
With other tortures. 

Ben had risen at that I 
He gripped his cudgel, called for a quart of ale, 
Then like Helvellyn with his rocky face 
And mountain-belly, he surged along Cheapside, 
Snorting with wrath, and rolled into the gaol, 
To share the punishment. 

"There is my mark! 
'Tis not the first time you have branded me," 
Said our big Ben, and thrust his broad left thumb 
Branded with T for Tyburn, into the face 
Of every protest. "That's the mark you gave me 
Because I killed my man in Spitalfields, 
A duel honest as any your courtiers fight. 
But I was no Fitzdotterel, bore no gules 
And azure, robbed no silk-worms for my hose, 
I was Ben Jonson, out of Annandale, 
Bricklayer in common to the good Lord God. 
You branded me. I am Ben Jonson still. 
You cannot rub it out." 

The Mermaid Inn 
Buzzed like a hornet's nest, upon the day 
Fixed for their mutilation. And the stings 
Were ready, too; for rapiers flashed and clashed 
Among the tankards. Dekker was there, and Nash, 
Brome (Jonson's body-servant, whom he taught 
His art of verse and, more than that, to love him,) 
And half a dozen more. They planned to meet 
The prisoners going to Tyburn, and attempt 
A desperate rescue. 

All at once we heard 
A great gay song come marching down the street, 
A single voice, and twenty marching men, 
Then the full chorua, twenty voices strong: — 



BIG BEN 353 

The prentice whistles at break of day 

All under fair roofs and towers, 
When the old Cheape openeth every way 

Her little sweet inns like flowers; 
And he sings like a lark, both early and late, 

To think, if his house take fire, 
At the good Green Dragon in Bishopsgate 

He may drink to his heart's desire. 

Chorus: Or sit at his ease in the old Cross Keys 
And drink to his heart's desire. 

But I, as I walk by Red Rose Lane, 

Tho' it warmeth my heart to see 
The Swan, The Golden Hynde, and The Crane, 

With the door set wide for me; 
Tho' Signs like daffodils paint the strand 

When the thirsty bees begin, 
Of all the good taverns in Engeland 

My choice is — The Mermaid Inn. 

Chorus: There is much to be said for The Saracen's Head, 
But my choice is The Mermaid Inn. 

Into the tavern they rushed, these roaring boys. 
"Now broach your ripest and your best," they cried. 

"All's well! They are all released! They are on the wayl 
Old Camden and young Selden worked the trick. 
Where is Dame Dimpling? Where's our jolly hostess? 
Tell her the Mermaid Tavern will have guests : 
We are sent to warn her. She must raid Cook's Row, 
And make their ovens roar. Nobody dines 
This day with old Duke Humphrey. Red-deer pies, 
Castles of almond crust, a shield of brawn 
Big as the nether millstone, barrels of wine, 
Three roasted peacocks! Ben is on the way!" 
Then all the rafters rang with song again : — 

There was a Prince — long since, long since! — 

To East Cheape did resort. 
For that he loved The Blue Boar's Head 

Far better than Crown or Court; 

23 



854 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

But old King Harry in Westminster 

Hung up, for all to see, 
Three bells of power iu St. Stephen's Tower, 

Yea, bells of a thousand and three. 

Chorus: Three bells of power in a timber tower, 
Thirty thousand and three. 

For Harry the Fourth was a godly king 

And loved great godly bells! 
He bade them ring and he bade them swing 

Till a man might hear nought else. 
In every tavern it soured the sack 

With discord and with din; 
But they drowned it all in a madrigal 

Like this, at The Mermaid Inn. 

Chorus: They drowned it all in a m^adrigal 
Like this, at The Mermaid Inn. 

"But how did Selden work it?" — "Nobody knows. 
They wiU be here anon. Better ask Will. 
He's the magician!" — "Ah, here comes Dame Dimpling!" 
And, into the rollicking chaos our good Dame 
— A Dame of only two and thirty springs — 
All lavender and roses and white kerchief, 
Bustled, to lay the tables. 

Fletcher flung 
His arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. 
But all she said was, "One — hvo — three — four — Jive — 
Six at a pinch, in yonder window-seat." 
"A health to our Dame Dimpling," Beaumont cried, 
And Dekker, leaping on the old black settle, 
Led all their tumult into a song again: — 

What is the Mermaid's merriest toast? 
Our hostess — good Dame Dimpling! 
Who is it rules the Mermaid roast? 
Who is it bangs the Mermaid host, 
Tho' her hands be soft as her heart almost? 
Dame Dimpling! 



BIG BEN 355 

She stands at the board in her fresh blue gown 

With the sleeves tucked up — Dame Dimpling! 
She rolls the white dough up and down 
And her pies are crisp, and her eyes are brown. 
So — she is the Queen of all this town, — 
Dame Dimpling! 

Her sheets are white as black-thorn bloom, 

White as her neck, Dame Dimpling! 
Her lavender sprigs in the London gloom 
Make ever}^ little bridal-room 
A country nook of fresh perfume, — 
Dame Dimpling! 

She wears white lace on her dark brown hair: 
And a rose on her breast, Dame Dimpling! 
And who can show you a foot as fair 
Or an ankle as neat when she climbs the stair. 
Taper in hand, and head in the air. 
And a rose in her cheek? — 0, past compare. 
Dame Dimpling! 

"But don't forget those oyster-pies," cried Lyly. 
"Nor the roast beef," roared Dekker. "Prove yourself 
The Muse of meat and drink." 

There was a shout 
In Bread Street, and our windows all swung wide. 
Six heads at each. 

Nat Field bestrode our sign 
And kissed the painted Mermaid on her lips, 
Then waved his tankard. 

"Here they come," he cried. 
" Camden and Selden, Chapman and Marston, too. 
And half Will's company with our big Ben 
Riding upon their shoulders." 

"Look!" cried Dekker, 
"But where is Atlas now? O, let them have it! 
A thumping chorus, lads! Let the roof crack!" 
And all the Mermaid clashed and banged again 
In thunderous measure to the marching tune 
That rolled down Bread Street, forty voices strong: — 



356 TALES OP THE MERMAID TAVERN 

At Ypres Inn, by Wring-wren Lane, 

Old John of Gaunt would dine: 
He scarce had opened an oyster or twain, 

Or drunk one flagon of wine, 
When, all along the Vintry Ward, 

He heard the trumpets blow, 
And a voice that roared — "If thou love thy lord, 

Tell John of Gaunt to go!" 

Chorus: A great voice roared — " If thou love thy lord, 
Tell John of Gaunt to go!" 

Then into the room rushed Haviland 

That fair fat Flemish host, 
"They are marching hither with sword and brand, 

Ten thousand men — almost! 
It is these oysters or thy sweet life, 

Thy blood or the best of the bin!"— 
"Proud Pump, avaunt!" quoth John of Gaunt, 

"I will dine at The Mermaid Inn!" 

Chorus: "Proud Pump, avaunt!" quoth John of Gaunt, 
"There is wine at The Mermaid Inn!" 

And in came Ben like a great galleon poised 
High on the white crest of a shouting wave. 
And then the feast began. The fragrant steam 
As from the kitchens of Olympus drew 
A throng of ragged urchins to our doors. 
Ben ordered them a castellated pie 
That rolled a cloud around them where they sat 
Munching upon the cobblestones. Our casements 
Dripped with the golden dews of Helicon; 
And, under the warm feast our cellarage 
Gurgled and foamed in the delicious cool 
With crimson freshets — 

"Tell us," cried Nat Field, 
When pipes began to puflF. "How did you work it?" 
Camden chuckled and tugged his long white beard. 
"Out of the mouth of babes," he said and shook 
His head at Selden! "0, young man, young man. 
There's a career before you! Selden did it. 



BIG BEN 357 

Take my advice, my children. Make young Selden 

Solicitor-general to the Mermaid Inn. 

That rosy silken smile of his conceals 

A scholar! Yes, that suckling lawyer there 

Puts my grey beard to shame. His courteous airs 

And silken manners hide the nimblest wit 

That ever trimmed a sail to catch the wind 

Of courtly favour, Mark my words now, Ben, 

That youth will sail right up against the wind 

By skilful tacking. But you run it fine, 

Selden, you run it fine. Take my advice 

And don't be too ironical, my boy, 

Or even the King will see it." 

He chuckled again. 
"But tell them of your tractate!" 

"Here it is," 
Quoth Selden, twisting a lighted paper spill, 
Then, with his round cherubic face aglow 
Lit his long silver pipe, 

"Why, first," he said, 
"Camden being Clarencieux King-at-arms, 
He read the King this little tract I wrote 
Against tobacco." And the Mermaid roared 
With laughter. "Well, you went the way to hang 
All three of them," cried Lyly, "and, as for Ben, 
His Trinidado goes to bed with him." 
"Green gosling, quack no more," Selden replied, 
Smiling that rosy silken smile anew. 
"The King's a critic! When have critics known 
The poet from his creatures, God from me? 
How many cite Polonius to their sons 
And call it Shakespeare? Well, I took my text 
From sundry creatures of our great big Ben, 
And called it ' Jonson.* 

Camden read it out 
Without the flicker of an eye. His beard 
Saved us, I think. The King admired his text. 
'There is a man,' he read, 'lies at death's door 
Thro' taking of tobacco. Yesterday 
He voided a bushel of soot.' 



358 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

'God bless my soul, 
A bushel of soot! Think of it!' said the King. 
'The man who wrote those great and splendid words,' 
Camden replied, — I had prepared his case 
Carefully — 'lies in Newgate prison, sire. 
His nose and ears await the hangman's knife.' 

'Ah,' said the shrewd Bang, goggling his great eyes 

Cannily. 'Did he not defame the Scots?' 

'That's true,' said Camden, like a man that hears 

Truth for the first time. '0 ay, he defamed 'em,' 

The King said, very wisely, once again. 

'Ah, but,' says Camden, like a man that strives 

With more than mortal wit, ' only such Scots 

As flout your majesty, and take tobacco. 

He is a Scot, himself, and hath the gift 

Of preaching.' Then we gave him Jonson's lines 

Against Virginia. 'Neither do thou hist 

After that tawny weed; for who can tell, 

Before the gathering and the making up, 

What alligarta may have spawned thereon,' 

Or words to that effect. 

'Magneeficent!* 
Spluttered the King — 'who knows? Who knows, indeed? 
That's a grand touch, that Alligarta, Camden!' 
'The Scot who wrote those great and splendid words,' 
Said Camden, 'languishes in Newgate, sire. 
His ears and nose — ' 

And there, as we arranged 
With Inigo Jones, the ladies of the court 
Assailed the King in tears. Their masque and ball 
Would all be ruined. All their Grecian robes. 
Procured at vast expense, were wasted now. 
The masque was not half-written. Master Jones 
Had lost his poets. They were all in gaol. 
Their noses and their ears .... 

'God bless my soul,' 
Spluttered the King, goggling his eyes again, 
'What d'you make of it, Camden?' — 



BIG BEN 359 

'I should say 
A Puritan plot, sire; for these justices — 
Who love tobacco — use their law, it seems, 
To flout your Majesty at every turn. 
If this continue, sire, there'll not be left 
A loyal ear or nose in all your realm.' 
At that, our noble monarch wcU-nigh swooned. 
He hunched his body, padded as it was 
Against the assassin's knife, six inches deep 
With great green quilts, wagged his enormous head, 
Then, in a dozen words, he wooed destruction: 
*It is presumption and a high contempt 
In subjects to dispute what kings can do,' 
He whimpered. ' Even as it is blasphemy 
To thwart the will of God.' 

He waved his hand, 
And rose. 'These men must be released, at once!' 
Then, as I think, to seek a safer place, 
He waddled from the room, his rickety legs 
Doubling beneath that great green feather-bed 
He calls his 'person.' — I shall dream to-night 
Of spiders, Camden. — But in half an hour, 
Inigo Jones was armed with Right Divine 
To save such ears and noses as the ball 
Required for its perfection. Think of that! 
And let this earthly ball remember, too. 
That Chapman, Marston, and our great big Ben 
Owe their poor adjuncts to — ten Grecian robes 
And 'Jonson' on tobacco! England loves 
Her poets, O, supremely, when they're dead." 
"But Ben has narrowly escaped her love," 
Said Chapman gravely. 

"What do you mean?" said Lodge. 
And, as he spoke, there was a sudden hush. 
A tall gaunt woman with great burning eyes. 
And white hair blown back softly from a face 
Ethereally fierce, as might have looked 
Cassandra in old age, stood at the door. 
"Where is my Ben?" she said. 

"Mother!" cried Ben. 
He rose and caught her in his mighty arms. 



360 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Her labour-reddened, long-boned hands entwined 
Behind his neck. 

"She brought this to the gaol," 
Said Chapman quietly, tossing a phial across 
To Camden. "And he meant to take it, too, 
Before the hangman touched him. Half an hour 
And you'd have been too late to save big Ben. 
He has lived too much in ancient Rome to love 
A slit nose and the pillory. He'd have wrapped 
His purple round him like an emperor. 
I think she had another for herself." 
"There's Roman blood in both of them," said Dekker, 
"Don't look. She is weeping now." And, while Ben held 
That gaunt old body sobbing against his heart, 
Dekker, to make her think they paid no heed, 
Began to sing; and very softly now, 
Full forty voices echoed the refrain: — 

The Cardinal's Hat is a very good inn. 

And so is The Puritan's Head; 
But I know a sign of a Wine, a Wine 

That is better when all is said. 
It is whiter than Venus, redder than Mars, 

It was old when the world begun; 
For all good inns are moons or stars 

But The Mermaid is their Sun. 

Chorus: They are all alight like moons in the night, 
But The Mermaid is their Sun. 

Therefore, when priest or parson cries 

That inns like flowers increase, 
I say that mine inn is a church likewise. 

And I say to them "Be at peace!" 
An host may gather in dark St. Paul's 

To salve their souls from sin; 
But the Light may be where "two or three" 

Drink Wine in The Mermaid Inn. 

Chorus: The Light may be where "two or three" 
Drink Wine in The Mermaid Inn. 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 361 

VII 

THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 

'TwAS on an All Souls' Eve that our good Inn 
— Whereof, for ten years now, myself was host — 
Heard and took part in its most eerie tale. 

It was a bitter night, and master Ben, 
— His hair now flecked with grey, though youth still fired 
His deep and ageless eyes, — in the old oak-chair, 
Over the roaring hearth, puffed at his pipe; 
A little sad, as often I found him now 
Remembering vanished faces. Yet the years 
Brought others round him. Wreaths of Heliochrise 
Gleamed still in that great tribe of Benjamin, 
Burned still across the malmsey and muscadel. 
Chapman and Browne, Herrick, — a name like thyme 
Crushed into sweetness by a bare-foot maid 
Milking, at dewy dawn, in Elfin-land, — 
These three came late, and sat in a little room 
Aside, supping together, on one great pie, 
Whereof both crust and coffin were prepared 
By master Herrick's receipt, and all washed down 
With mighty cups of sack. This left with Ben, 
John Ford, wrapped in his cloak, brooding aloof, 
Drayton and Lodge and Drummond of Hawthornden. 

Suddenly, in the porch, I heard a sound 
Of iron that grated on the flags. A spade 
And pick came edging through the door. 

"0, room! 
Room for the master-craftsman," muttered Ford, 
And grey old sexton Scarlet hobbled in. 

He shuflfled off the snow that clogged his boots, 
— On my clean rushes! — brushed it from his cloak 
Of Northern Russet, wiped his rheumatic knees, 
Blew out his lanthorn, hung it on a nail, 
Leaned his rude pick and spade against the wall. 
Flung back his rough frieze hood, flapped his gaunt arms, 
And called for ale. 



362 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

"Come to the fire," said Lodge. 
" Room for the wisest counseUor of kings, 
The kindly sage that puts us all to bed, 
And tucks us up beneath the grass-green quilt." 

"Plenty of work, eh Timothy?" said Ben. 
"Work? Where's my liquor? 0, ay, there's work to spare," 
Old Scarlet croaked, then quaffed his creaming stoup, 
While Ben said softly — "Pity 3^ou could not spare. 
You and your Scythe-man, some of the golden lads 
That I have seen here in the Mermaid Inn!" 
Then, with a quiet smile he shook his head 
And turned to master Drummond of Hawthornden. 
"Well, songs are good; but flesh and blood are better. 
The grey old tomb of Horace glows for me 
Across the centuries, with one little fire 
Lit by a girl's light hand." Then, under breath, 
Yet with some passion, he murmured this brief rhyme: — 



Dulce ridentem, laughing through the ages, 

Dulce loquentem, 0, fairer far to me, 
Rarer than the wisdom of all his golden pages 

Floats the happy laugliter of his vanished Lalage. 



II 

Dulce loqiientem, — we hear it and we know it. 

Dulce ridentem, — so musical and low. 
"Mightier than marble is my song!" Ah, did the poet 

Know why little Lalage was mightier even so? 



Ill 

Dulce ridentem, — through all the years that sever. 

Clear as o'er yon hawthorn hedge we heard her passing 
by,- 

Lalagen amabo, — a song may live for ever 
Didce loquentem, — but Lalage must die. 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 363 

"I'd like to learn that rhyme," the sexton said. 
"I've a fine memory too. You start me now, 
I'd keep it up all night with ancient ballads." 

And then — a strange thing happened. I saw John Ford 
"With folded arms and melancholy hat" 
(As in our Mermaid jest he still would sit) 
Watching old Scarlet like a man in trance. 
The sexton gulped his ale and smacked his lips, 
Then croaked again — "0, ay, there's work to spare, 
We fills 'em faster than the spades can dig," 
And, all at once, the lights burned low and blue. 
Ford leaned right forward, with his grim black eyes 
Widening. 

"Why, that's a marvellous ring!" he said, 
And pointed to the sexton's gnarled old hand 
Spread on the black oak-table like the claw 
Of some great bird of prey. "A ruby worth 
The ransom of a queen!" The fire leapt up! 
The sexton stared at him; 

Then stretched his hand out, with its blue-black nails, 
Full in the light, a grim earth-coloured hand, 
But bare as it was born. 

"There was a ring! 
I could have sworn it! Red as blood!" cried Ford. 
And Ben and Lodge and Drummond of Hawthornden 
All stared at him. For such a silent soul 
Was master Ford that, when he suddenly spake. 
It struck the rest as dumb as if the Sphinx 
Had opened its cold stone lips. He would sit mute 
Brooding, aloof, for hours, his cloak around him, 
A staff between his knees, as if prepared 
For a long journey, a lonely pilgrimage 
To some dark tomb; a strange and sorrowful soul, 
Yet not — as many thought him — harsh or hard, 
But of a most kind patience. Though he wrote 
In blood, they say, the blood came from his heart; 
And all the sufferings of this world he took 
To his own soul, and bade them pasture there- 
Till out of his compassion, he became 
A monument of bitterness. He rebelled; 
And so fell short of that celestial height 



364 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Whereto the greatest only climb, who stand 

By Shakespeare, and accept the Eternal Law. 

These find, in law, firm footing for the soul. 

The strength that binds the stars, and reins the sea^ 

The base of being, the pillars of the world, 

The pledge of honour, the pure cord of love. 

The form of truth, the golden floors of heaven. 

These men discern a height beyond all heights, 

A depth below all depths, and never an end 

Without a pang beyond it, and a hope ; 

Without a heaven bej'ond it, and a hell. 

For these, despair is like a bubble pricked, 

An old romance to make young lovers weep. 

For these, the law becomes a fiery road, 

A Jacob's ladder through that vast abyss 

Lacking no rung from realm to loftier realm, 

Nor wanting one degree from dust to wings. 

These, at the last, radiant with victory. 

Lay their strong hands upon the winged steeds 

And fiery chariots, and exult to hold. 

Themselves, the throbbing reins, whereby they steer 

The stormy splendours. 

He, being less, rebelled, 
Cried out for unreined steeds, and unruled stars. 
An unprohibited ocean and a truth 
Untrue ; and the equal thunder of the law 
Hurled him to night and chaos, who was born 
To shine upon the forehead of the day. 
And yet — the voice of darkness and despair 
May speak for heaven where heaven would not be heard, 
May fight for heaven where heaven would not prevail, 
And the consummate splendour of that strife, 
Swallowing up all discords, all defeat. 
In one huge victory, harmonising all. 
Make Lucifer, at last, at one with God. 

There, — on that All Souls' Eve, you might have thought 
A dead man spoke, to see how Drayton stared. 
And Drummond started. 

"You saw no ruby ring," 
The old sexton muttered sullenly. "If you did, 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 365 

The worse for me, by all accounts. The lights 
Burned low. You caught the firelight on my fist. 
What was it like, this ring?" 

"A band of gold, 
And a great ruby, heart-shaped, fit to burn 
Between the breasts of Lais. Am I awake 
Or dreaming?" 

"Well, — that makes the second time! 
There's many have said they saw it, out of jest, 
To scare me. For the astrologer did say 
The third time I should die. Now, did you see it? 
Most likely someone's told you that old tale! 
You hadn't heard it, now?" 

Ford shook his head. 
"What tale?" said Ben. 

"0, you could make a book 
About my life. I've talked with quick and dead, 
And neither ghost nor flesh can friglit me now! 
I wish it was a ring, so's I could catch him. 
And sell him; but I've never seen him yet. 
A white witch told me, if I did, I'd go 
Clink, just like that, to heaven or t'other place, 
Whirled in a fiery chariot with ten steeds 
The way Elijah went. For I have seen 
So many mighty things that I must die 
Mightily. 

Well, — I came, sirs, to my craft 
The day mine uncle Robert dug the grave 
For good Queen Katharine, she whose heart was broke 
By old King Harry, a very great while ago. 
Maybe you've heard about my uncle, sirs? 
He was far-famous for his grave-digging. 
In depth, in speed, in neatness, he'd no match! 
They've put a fine slab to his memory 
In Peterborough Cathedral — Robert Scarlet, 
Sexton for half a century, it says. 
In Peterborough Cathedral, where he built 
The last sad habitation for two queens, 
And many hundreds of the common sort. 
And now himself, who for so many built 
Eternal habitations, others have buried. 



366 TALES OP THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Obiit anno cetatis, ninety-eight, 
July the second, fifteen ninety-four. 

We should do well, sir, with a slab like that, 
Shouldn't we?" And the sexton leered at Lodge. 
"Not many boasts a finer slab than that. 
There's many a king done worse. Ah, well, you see, 
He'd a fine record. Living to ninety-eight, 
He buried generations of the poor, 
A countless host, and thought no more of it 
Than digging potatoes. He'd a lofty mind 
That found no satisfaction in small deeds. 
But from his burying of two queens he drew 
A lively pleasure. Could he have buried a third. 
It would indeed have crowned his old white hairs. 
But he was famous, and he thought, perchance, 
A third were mere vain-glory. So he died. 
I helped him with the second." 

The old man leered 
To see the shaft go home. 

Ben filled the stoup 
With ale. "So that," quoth he, "began the tale 
About this ruby ring?" "But who," said Lodge, 
"Who was the second queen?" 

"A famous queen, 
And a great lover! When you hear her name, 
Your hearts will leap. Her beauty passed the bounds 
Of modesty, men say, yet — she died young! 
We buried her at midnight. There were few 
That knew it; for the high State Funeral 
Was held upon the morrow, Lammas morn. 
Anon you shall hear why. A strange thing that, — 
To see the mourners weeping round a hearse 
That held a dummy coffin. Stranger still 
To see us lowering the true coffin down 
By torchlight, with some few of her true friends, 
In Peterborough Cathedral, all alone." 

"Old as the world," said Ford. "It is the way 
Of princes. Their true tears and smiles are seen 
At dead of night, like ghosts raised from the grave! 
And all the luxury of their brief, bright noon, 
Cloaks but a dummy throne, a mask of life; 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 367 

And, at the last, drapes a false catafalque, 
Holding a vacant urn, a mask of death. 
But tell, teU on!" 

The sexton took a draught 
Of ale and smacked his lips. 

"Mine uncle lived 
A mile or more from Peterborough, then. 
And, past his cottage, in the dead of night. 
Her royal coach came creeping through the lanes, 
With scutcheons round it and no crowd to see, 
And heralds carrying torches in their hands. 
And none to admire, but him and me, and one, 
A pedlar-poet, who lodged with us that week 
And paid his lodging with a bunch of rhymes. 
By these, he said, my uncle Robert's fame 
Should live, as in a picture, till the crack 
Of doom. My uncle thought that he should pay 
Four-pence beside; but, when the man declared 
The thought unworthy of these august events, 
My uncle was abashed. 

And, truth to tell, 
The rhymes were mellow, though here and there he swerved 
From truth to make them so. Nor would he change 
'June' to 'July' for all that we could say. 
'I never said the month was June,' he cried, 
'And if I did, Shakespeare hath jumped an age! 
Gods, will you hedge me round with thirty nights? 
"June" rhymes with "moon"!' With that, he flung them 

down 
And strode away like Lucifer, and was gone, 
Before old Scarlet could approach again 
The matter of that four-pence. 

Yet his rhymes 
Have caught the very colours of that night ! 
I can see through them, 

Ay, just as through our cottage window-panes. 
Can see the great black coach. 
Carrying the dead queen past our garden-gate. 
The roses bobbing and fluttering to and fro, 
Hide, and yet show the more by hiding, half. 
And, like smoked glass through which you see the sun, 



368 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

The song shows truest when it blurs the truth. 
This is the way it goes." 

He rose to his feet, 
Picked up his spade, and struck an attitude, 
Leaning upon it. "I've got to feel my spade, 
Or I'll forget it. This is the way I speak it. 
Always." And, with a schoolboy's rigid face, 
And eyes fixed on the rafters, he began, 
Sing-song, the pedlar-poet's bunch of rhymes :- 



As I went by the cattle-shed 

The grey dew dimmed the grass, 
And, under a twisted apple-tree. 
Old Robin Scarlet stood by me. 
"Keep watch! Keep watch to-night," he said, 

"There's things 'ull come to pass. 



"Keep watch until the moon has cleared 

The thatch of yonder rick; 
Then I'll come out of my cottage-door 
To wait for the coach of a queen once more; 
And — you'll say nothing of what you've heard. 

But rise and follow me quick." 



"And what 'ull I see if I keep your trust, 

And wait and watch so late?" 
"Pride," he said, "and Pomp," he said, 
"Beauty to haunt you till you're dead. 
And Glorious Dust that goes to dust. 
Passing the white farm-gate. 



"You are young and all for adventure, lad, 
And the great tales to be told: 

This night, before the clock strike one, 

Your lordliest hour will all be done; 

But you'll remember it and be glad, 
In the days when you are old!" 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 369 

All in the middle of the night, 

My face was at the pane; 
When, creeping out of his cottage-door, 
To wait for the coach of a queen once more, 
Old Scarlet, in the moon-light, 

Beckoned to me again. 

He stood beneath a lilac-spray, 

Like Father Time for dole, 
In Reading Tawny cloak and hood, 
With mattock and with spade he stood, 
And, far away to southward, 

A bell began to toll. 

He stood beneath a lilac-spray. 

And never a word he said; 
But, as I stole out of the house, 
He pointed over the orchard boughs. 
Where, not with dawn or sunset. 

The Northern sky grew red. 

I followed him, and half in fear, 

To the old farm-gate again; 
And, round the curve of the long white road, 
I saw that the dew-dashed hedges glowed 
Red with the grandeur drawing near. 

And the torches of her train. 

They carried her down with singing, 

With singing sweet and low. 
Slowly round the curve they came, 
Twenty torches dropping flame. 
The heralds that were bringing her 

The way we all must go. 

'Twas master William Dethick, 

The Garter King of Arms, 
Before her royal coach did ride, 
With none to see his Coat of Pride, 
For peace was on the countryside. 

And sleep upon the farms; 

24 



370 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Peace upon the red fann, 

Peace upon the grey, 
Peace on the heavy orchard trees, 
And little white-walled cottages, 
Peace upon the wayside, 

And sleep upon the way. 

So master William Dethick, 

With forty horse and men, 
Like any common man and mean 
Rode on before the Queen, the Queen, 
And — only a wandering pedlar 

Could tell the tale again. 

How, like a cloud of darkness, 
Between the torches moved 
Four black steeds and a velvet pall 
Crowned with the Crown Imperiall 
And — on her shield — the lilies, 
The lilies that she loved. 

Ah, stained and ever stainless 

Ah, white as her own hand, 
White as the wonder of that brow, 
Crowned with colder lilies now. 
White on the velvet darkness. 
The lUies of her land! 

The witch from over the water. 
The fay from over the foam. 
The bride that rode thro' Edinbro' town 
With satin shoes and a silken gown, 
A queen, and a great king's daughter, — 
Thus they carried her home. 

With torches and with scutcheons, 

Unhonoured and unseen, 
With the lilies of France in the wind a-stir, 
And the Lion of Scotland over her, 
Darkly, in the dead of night, 

They carried the Queen, the Queen. 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 371 

The sexton paused and took a draught of ale. 

"'Twas there," he said, "I joined 'em at the gate, 

My uncle and the pedlar. What they sang, 

The little shadowy throng of men that walked 

Behind the scutcheoned coach with bare bent heads 

I know not; but 'twas very soft and low. 

They walked behind the rest, like shadows flung 

Behind the torch-light, from that strange dark hearse. 

And, some said, afterwards, they were the ghosts 

Of lovers that this queen had brought to death. 

A foolish thought it seemed to me, and yet 

Like the night-wind they sang. And there was one 

An olive-coloured man, — the pedlar said 

Was like a certain foreigner that she loved, 

One Chastelard, a wild French poet of hers. 

Also the pedlar thought they sang 'farewell' 

In words like this, and that the words in French 

Were written by the hapless Queen herself, 

When as a girl she left the vines of France 

For Scotland and the halls of Holyrood: — 



Though thy hands have plied their trade 

Eighty years without a rest, 
Robin Scarlet, never thy spade 

Built a house for such a guest! 
Carry her where, in earliest June, 

All the whitest hawthorns blow; 
Carry her under the midnight moon. 
Singing very soft and low. 
Slow between the low green larches, carry the lovely lady 
sleeping. 
Past the low white moon-lit farms, along the lilac-shadowed 
way! 
Carry her through the summer darkness, weeping, weeping, 
weeping, weeping! 
Answering only, to any that ask you, whence ye carry her, — 
Fotheringhay! 



372 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

II 

She was gayer than a child! 
• — Let your torches droop for sorrow. — 
Laughter in her eyes ran wild ! 
— Carry her doxon to Peterboro'. — 
Words were kisses in her mouth! 
■ — Let no word of hlame he spoken. — 
She was Queen of all the South ! 
— In the North, her heart was broken. — 
They should have left her in her vineyards, left her heart to her 
land's own keeping, 
Left her white breast room to breathe, and left her light foot 
free to dance. 
Out of the cold grey Northern mists, we carry her weeping, 
weeping, weeping, — 

0, ma patrie, 
La plus cherie, 
Adieu, plaisant pays de France! 



Ill 

Many a red heart died to beat 
— Music swelled in Holyrood! — 
Once, beneath her fair white feet. 
— Now the floors may rot with blood — 
She was young and her deep hair — ■ 
— Wind and rain were all her fate! — 
Trapped young Love as in a snare. 
— And the tvind's a sword in the Canongate! 
Edinboro'! 
Edinboro^! 
Music built the towers of Troy, but thy grey walls are built 

of sorrow! 
Wind-swept hills, and sorrowful glens, of thrifty sowing and 
iron reaping, 
What if her foot were fair as a sunbeam, how should it touch 
or melt your snows? 
What if her hair were a silken mesh? 
Hands of steel can deal hard blows, 
Iron breast-plates bruise fair flesh! 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 373 

Carry her southward, palled in purple, 
Weeping, weeping, weeping, weeping, 
What had their rocks to do with roses? Body and soul she was 
all one rose. 

Thus, through the summer night, slowly they went, 
We three behind, — the pedlar-poet and I, 
And Robin Scarlet. The moving flare that ringed 
The escutcheoned hearse, lit every leaf distinct 
Along the hedges and woke the sleeping birds, 
But drew no watchers from the drowsier farms. 
Thus, through a world of innocence and sleep, 
We brought her to the doors of her last home, 
In Peterborough Cathedral. Round her tomb 
They stood, in the huge gloom of those old aisles, 
The heralds with their torches, but their light 
Struggled in vain with that tremendous dark. 
Their ring of smoky red could only show 
A few sad faces round the purple pall. 
The wings of a stone angel overhead, 
The base of three great pillars, and, fitfully, 
Faint as the phosphorus glowing in some old vault, 
One little slab of marble, far away. 

Yet, or the darkness, or the pedlar's words 
Had made me fanciful, I thought I saw 
Bowed shadows praying in those unplumbed aisles, 
Nay, dimly heard them weeping, in a grief 
That still was built of silence, like the drip 
Of water from a frozen fountain-head. 

We laid her in her grave. We closed the tomb. 
With echoing footsteps all the funeral went; 
And I went last to close and lock the doors; 
Last, and half frightened of the enormous gloom 
That rolled along behind me as one by one 
The torches vanished. 0, I was glad to see 
The moonlight on the kind turf-mounds again. 

But, as I turned the key, a quivering hand 
Was laid upon my arm. I turned and saw 
That foreigner with the olive-coloured face. 

From head to foot he shivered, as with cold. 
He drew me into the shadows of the porch. 



374 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

'Come back with me/ he whispered, and slid his hand 

— Like ice it was! — along my wrist, and slipped 

A ring upon my finger, muttering quick, 

As in a burning fever, 'All the wealth 

Of Eldorado for one hour! Come back! 

I must go back and see her face again! 

I was not there, not there, the day she — died. 

You'll help me with the coffin. Not a soul 

Will know. Come back! One moment, only one!' 

I thought the man was mad, and plucked my hand 
Away from him. He caught me by the sleeve, 
And sank upon his knees, lifting his face 
Most piteously to mine. 'One moment! See! 
I loved her!' 

I saw the moonlight glisten on his tears, 
Great, long, slow tears they were; and then — my God- 
As his face lifted and his head sank back 
Beseeching me — I saw a crimson thread 
Circling his throat, as though the headsman's axe 
Had cloven it with one blow, so shrewd, so keen, 
The head had slipped not from the trunk. 

I gasped; 
And, as he pleaded, stretching his head back, 
The wound, like a second awful mouth, 
The wound began to gape. 

I tore my cloak 
Out of his clutch. My keys fell with a clash. 
I left them where they lay, and with a shout 
I dashed into the broad white empty road. 
There was no soul in sight. Sweating with fear 
I hastened home, not daring to look back; 
But as I turned the corner, I heard the clang 
Of those great doors, and knew he had entered in. 

Not till I saw before me in the lane 

The pedlar and my uncle did I halt 

And look at that which clasped my finger still 

As with a band of ice. 

My hand was bare! 
I stared at it and rubbed it. Then I thought 
I had been dreaming. There had been no ring! 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 375 

The poor man I had left there in the porch, 
Being a Frenchman, talked a little wild; 
But only wished to look upon her grave. 
And I — I was the madman! So I said 
Nothing. But all the same, for all my thoughts, 
I'd not go back that night to find the keys, 
No, not for all the rubies in the crown 
Of Prester John. 



The high State Funeral 
Was held on Lammas Day. A wondrous sight 
For Peterborough! For myself, I found 
Small satisfaction in a catafalque 
That carried a dummy coffin. None the less, 
The pedlar thought that as a Solemn Masque, 
Or Piece of Purple Pomp, the thing was good, 
And worthy of a picture in his rhymes; 
The more because he said it shadowed forth 
The ironic face of Death. 

The Masque, indeed 
Began before we buried her. For a host 
Of Mourners — Lords and Ladies — on Lammas eve 
Panting with eagerness of pride and place, 
Arrived in readiness for the morrow's pomp. 
And at the Bishop's Palace they found prepared 
A mighty supper for them, where they sat 
All at one table. In a Chamber hung 
With scutcheons and black cloth, they drank red wine 
And feasted, while the torches and the Queen 
Crept through the darkness of Northampton lanes. 



At seven o'clock on Lammas Morn they woke. 

After the Queen was buried; and at eight 

The Masque set forth, thus pictured in the rhymes 

With tolling bells, which on the pedlar's lips 

Had more than paid his lodging: Thus he spake it. 

Slowly, sounding the rhymes like solemn bells. 

And tolling, in between, with lingering tongue: — • 



376 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Toll! — From the Palace the Releevants creep, — 
A hundred poor old women, nigh their end, 

Wearing their black cloth gowns, and on each head 

An ell of snow-white hoUand which, some said. 
Afterwards they might keep, 

— Ah, Toll! — with nine new shillings each to spend, 
For all the trouble that they had, and all 
The sorrow of walking to this funeral. 

Toll! — And the Mourning Cloaks in purple streamed 
Following, a long procession, two by two, 

Her Household first. With these. Monsieur du Preau 

Her French Confessor, unafraid to show 

The golden Cross that gleamed 

About his neck, warned what the crowd might do 
Said / will wear it, though I die for it! 
So subtle in malice was that Jesuit. 

Toll! — Sir George Savile in his Mourner's Gown 
Carried the solemn Cross upon a Field 

Azure, and under it by a streamer borne 

Upon a field of Gules, an Unicorn 

Argent and, lower down, 

A scrolled device upon a blazoned shield. 

Which seemed to say — I am silent till the end! — 
Toll! Toll! — In my defence, God me defend! 

Toll! — and a hundred poor old men went by, 
Followed by two great Bishops. — Toll, ah toll! — 

Then, with White Staves and Gowns, four noble lords; 

Then sixteen Scots and Frenchmen with drawn swords; 
Then, with a Bannerol, 

Sir Andrew Noel, lifting to the sky 

The Great Red Lion. Then the Crown and Crest 
Borne by a Herald on his glittering breast. 

And now — ah now, indeed, the deep bell tolls — 

That empty Coffin, with its velvet pall, 
Borne by six Gentlemen, under a canopy 
Of purple, lifted by four knights, goes by. 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 377 

The Crown Imperial 
Burns on the CofRn-head. Four Bannerols 
On either side, uplifted by four squires, 
Roll on the wind their rich heraldic fires. 
Toll! The Chief Mourner— the fair RusseiU— toll!— 

Countess of Bedford — toll! — they bring her now, 
Weeping under a purple Cloth of State, 
Till, halting there before the Minister Gate, 

Having in her control 
The fair White Staves of office, with a bow 
She gives them to her two great Earls again. 
Then sweeps them onward in her mournful train. 

Toll! At the high Cathedral door the Quires 
Meet them and lead them, singing all the while 

A mighty Miserere for her soul ! 

Then, as the rolling organ — toll, ah toll! — 

Floods every glimmering aisle 

With ocean-thunders, all those knights and squires 
Bring the false Coffin to the central nave 
And set it in the Catafalque o'er her grave. 

The Catafalque was made in Field-bed wise 

Valanced with midnight purple, fringed with gold: 

All the Chief Mourners on dark thrones were set 

Within it, as jewels in some huge carcanet: 
Above was this device 

In my defence, God me defend, inscrolled 
Round the rich Arms of Scotland, as to say 
"Man judged me. I abide the Judgment Day." 

The sexton paused anew. All looked at him, 
And at his wrinkled, grim, earth-coloured hand, 
As if, in that dim light, beclouded now 
With blue tobacco-smoke, they thought to see 
The smouldering ruby again. 

"Ye know," he said, 
"How master William Wickham preached that day?" 
Ford nodded. "I have heard of it. He showed 
Subtly, very subtly, after his kind. 



378 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

That the white Body of Beauty such as hers 

Was in itself Papistical, a feast, 

A fast, an incense, a burnt-offering, 

And an Abomination in the sight 

Of all true Protestants. Why, her very name 

Was Mary!" 

"Ay, that's true, that's very true!" 
The sexton mused. "Now that's a strange deep thought! 
The Bishop missed a text in missing that. 
Her name, indeed, was Mary!" 

"Did you find 
Your keys again?" "Ay, sir, I found them!" "Where?" 
"Strange you should ask me that! After the throng 
Departed, and the Nobles were at feast. 
All in the Bishop's Palace — a great feast 
And worthy of their sorrow — I came back 
Carrying my uncle's second bunch of keys 
To lock the doors and search, too, for mine own. 
'Twas growing dusk already, and as I thrust 
The key into the lock, the great grey porch 
Grew cold upon me, like a tomb. 

I pushed 
Hard at the key — then stopped — with all my flesh 
Freezing, and half in mind to fly; for, sirs, 
The door was locked already, and — from within! 
I drew the key forth quietly and stepped back 
Into the Churchyard, where the graves were warm 
With sunset still, and the blunt carven stones 
Lengthened their homely shadows, out and out, 
To Everlasting. Then I plucked up heart. 
Seeing the footprints of that mighty Masque 
Along the pebbled path. A queer thought came 
Into my head that all the world without 
Was but a Masque, and I was creeping back. 
Back from the Mourner's Feast to Truth again. 
Yet — I grew bold, and tried the Southern door. 

'Twas locked, but held no key on the inner side 
To foil my own, and softly, softly, click, 
I turned it, and with heart, sirs, in my mouth, 
Pushed back the studded door and entered in . . . 

Stepped straight out of the world, I might have said, 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 379 

Out of the dusk into a night so deep, 
So dark, I trembled like a child. , . . 

And then 
I was aware, sirs, of a great sweet wave 
Of incense. All the gloom was heavy with it, 
As if her Papist Household had returned 
To pray for her poor soul; and, my fear went. 
But either that strange incense weighed me down. 
Or else from being sorely over-tasked, 
A languor came upon me, and sitting there 
To breathe a moment, in a velvet stall, 
I closed mine eyes. 

A moment, and no more. 
For then I heard a rustling in the nave. 
And opened them; and, very far away. 
As if across the world, in Rome herself, 
I saw twelve tapers in the solemn East, 
And saw, or thought I saw, cowled figures kneel 
Before them, in an incense-cloud. 

And then. 
Maybe the sunset deepened in the world 
Of masques without — clear proof that I had closed 
Mine eyes but for a moment, sirs, I saw 
As if across a world-without-end tomb, 
A tiny jewelled glow of crimson panes 
Darkening and brightening with the West. 

And then, 
Then I saw something more — Queen Mary's vault, 
And — it was open! . . , 

Then, I heard a voice, 
A strange deep broken voice, whispering love 
In soft French words, that clasped and clung hke hands; 
And then — two shadows passed against the West, 
Two blurs of black against that crimson stain, 
Slowly, very slowly, with bowed heads. 
Leaning together, and vanished into the dark 
Beyond the Catafalque. 

Then — I heard him pray, — 
And knew him for the man that prayed to me, — 
Pray as a man prays for his love's last breath ! 
And then, sirs, it caught me by the throat. 



380 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

And I, too, dropped upon my knees and prayed; 
For, as in answer to his prayer, there came 
A moan of music, a mighty shuddering sound 
From the great organ, a sound that rose and fell 
Like seas in anger, very far away; 
And then a peal of thunder, and then it seemed, 
As if the graves were giving up their dead, 
A great cowled host of shadows rose and sang: — 

Dies tree, dies illd 
Solvet sceclum in favilla, 
Teste D&vid cum Sibylla. 

I heard her sad, sad, little, broken voice, 
Out in the darkness. 'Ay, and David, too, 
His blood is on the floors of Holyrood, 
To speak for me.' Then that great ocean-sound 
Swelled to a thunder again, and heaven and earth 
Shrivelled away; and in that huge slow hymn 
Chariots were driven forth in flaming rows, 
And terrible trumpets blown from deep to deep. 

And then, ah then, the heart of heaven was hushed, 

And — in the hush — it seemed an angel wept. 

Another Mary wept, and gathering up 

All our poor wounded, weary, way-worn world. 

Even as a Mother gathers up her babe. 

Soothed it against her breast, and rained her tears 

On the pierced feet of God, and melted Him 

To pity, and over His feet poured her deep hair. 

The music died away. The shadows knelt. 

And then — I heard a rustling nigh the tomb. 

And heard — and heard — or dreamed I heard — farewells, 

Farewells for everlasting, deep farewells, 

Bitter as blood, darker than any death. 

And, at the last, as in a kiss, one breath, 

One agony of sweetness, like a sword 

For sharpness, drawn along a soft white throat; 

And, for its terrible sweetness, like a sigh 

Across great waters, very far away, — 

Sweetheart! 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 381 

And then, like doors, like world-without-end doors 

That shut for Everlasting, came a clang, 

And ringing, echoing, through the echo of it, 

One terrible cry that plucked my heart-strings out, 

Mary! And on the closed and silent tomb, 

Where there were two, one shuddering shadow lay, 

And then — I, too, — reeled, swooned and knew no more. 

Sirs, when I woke, there was a broad bright shaft 
Of moonlight, slanting through an Eastern pane 
Full on her tomb and that black Catafalque. 
And on the tomb there lay — my bunch of keys! 
I struggled to my feet. 
Ashamed of my wild fancies, like a man 
Awakening from a drunken dream. And yet, 
When I picked up the keys, although that storm 
Of terror had all blown by and left me calm, 
I lifted up mine eyes to see the scroll 
Round the rich crest of that dark canopy. 
In my defence, God me defend. The moon 
Struck full upon it; and, as I turned and went, 
God help me, sirs, though I were loyal enough 
To good Queen Bess, I could not help but say, 
Amen! 

And yet, methought it was not I that spake. 
But some deep soul that used me for a mask, 
A soul that rose up in this hollow shell 
Like dark sea-tides flooding an empty cave. 
I could not help but say with my poor lips, 
Amen! Amen! 

Sirs, 'tis a terrible thing 
To move in great events. Since that strange night 
I have not been as other men. The tides 
Would rise in this dark cave" — he tapped his skull — - 
"Deep tides, I know not whence; and when they rose 
My friends looked strangely upon me and stood aloof. 
And once, my uncle said to me — indeed. 
It troubled me strangely, — 'Timothy,' he said, 
'Thou art translated! I could well believe 
Thou art two men, whereof the one's a fool. 
The other a prophet. Or else, beneath thy skin 



382 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

There lurks a changeling! What hath come to thee?' 
And then, sirs, then — well I remember it! 
'Twas on a summer eve, and we walked home 
Between high ghostly hedges white with may — 
And uncle Robin, in his holy-day suit 
Of Reading Tawny, felt his old heart swell 
With pride in his great memories. He began 
Chanting the pedlar's tune, keeping the time 
Thus, jingle, jingle, slowly, with his keys: — 



Douglas, in the moonless night 

— Muffled oars on blue Loch Leven! — 
Took her hand, a flake of white 

— Beauty slides the bolts of heaven. — 
Little white hand, like a flake of snow, 
When they saw it, his Highland crew 
Swung together and murmured low, 

"Douglas, wilt thou die then, too?" 
And the pine trees whispered, weeping, 
"Douglas, Douglas, tender and true! 
Little white hand like a tender moonbeam, soon shall you 
set the broadswords leaping. 
It is the Queen, the Queen!" they whispered, watching 
her soar to the saddle anew. 
"There will be trumpets blown in the mountains, a mist 
of blood on the heather, and weeping. 
Weeping, weeping, and thou, too, dead for her, Douglas, 
Douglas, tender and true." 

II 

Carry the queenly lass along! 

■—Cold she lies, cold and dead, — 
She whose laughter was a song, 

— Lapped around with sheets of lead! — 
She whose blood was wine of the South, 

— Light her down to a couch of clay! — 
And a royal rose her mouth, 

And her body made of may! 



THE BURIAL OF A QUEEN 383 

— ^Lift your torches, weeping, weeping, 
Light her down to a couch of clay. 
They should have left her in her vineyards, left her heart 
to her land's own keeping. 
Left her white breast room to breathe, and left her light 
foot free to dance! 



Hush! Between the solemn pinewoods, carry the lovely lady 
sleeping. 
Out of the cold grey Northern mists, with banner and 
scutcheon, plume, and lance, 
Carry her southward, palled in purple, weeping, weeping, 
weeping, weeping, — 
0, ma patrie, 
La pliis cherie, 
Adieu, plaisant pays de France! 

Well, sirs, that dark tide rose within my brain? 
I snatched his keys and flung them over the hedge, 
Then flung myself down on a bank of ferns 
And wept and wept and wept. 

It puzzled him. 
Perchance he feared my mind was going and yet, 
O, sirs, if you consider it rightly now. 
With all those ages knocking at his doors, 
With all that custom clamouring for his care. 
Is it so strange a grave-digger should weep? 
Well — he was kind enough and heaped my plate 
That night at supper. 
But I could never dig my graves at ease 
In Peterborough Churchyard. So I came 
To London — to St. Mary Magdalen's. 
And thus, I chanced to drink my ale one night 
Here in the Mermaid Inn. 'Twas All Souls' Eve, 
And, on that bench, where master Ford now sits 
Was master Shakespeare — 
Well, the lights burned low, 
And just like master Ford to-night he leaned 
Suddenly forward. 'Timothy,' he said, 
'That's a most marvellous ruby! ' 



384 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

My blood froze! 
I stretched my hand out bare as it was born; 
And he said nothing, only looked at me. 
Then, seeing my pipe was empty, he bade me fill 
And lit it for me. 

Peach, the astrologer, 
Was living then; and that same night I went 
And told him all my trouble about this ring. 
He took my hand in his, and held it — thus — 
Then looked into my face and said this rhyme: — 

The ruby ring, that only three 

While Time and Tide go by, shall see, 

Weds your hand to history. 

Honour and pride the first shall lend; 
The second shall give you gold to spend; 
The third — shall warn you of your end. 



Peach was a rogue, some say, and yet he spake 

Most truly about the first," the sexton mused, 

"For master Shakespeare, though they say in youth 

Outside the theatres, he would hold your horse 

For pence, prospered at last, bought a fine house 

In Stratford, lived there like a squire, they say. 

And here, here he would sit, for all the world 

As he were but a poet! God bless us all. 

And then — to think! — he rose to be a squire! 

A deep one, masters! Well, he lit my pipe!" 

"Why did they bury such a queen by night?" 

Said Ford. " Kings might have wept for her. Did Death 

Play epicure and glutton that so few 

Were bidden to such a feast. Once on a time, 

I could have wept, myself, to hear a tale 

Of beauty buried in the dark. And hers 

Was loveliness, far, far beyond the common! 

Such beauty should be marble to the touch 

Of time, and clad in purple to amaze 

The moth. But she was kind and soft and fair, 

A woman, and so she died. But, why the dark?" 



THE BURIAL OP A QUEEN 385 

"Sir, they gave out the cofEn was too heavy 

For gentlemen to bear!" — "For kings to bear?" 

Ford flashed at him. The sexton shook his head, — 

"Nay! Gentlemen to bear! But — the true cause — 

Ah, sir, 'tis unbehevable, even to me, 

A sexton, for a queen so fair of face! 

And all her beds, even as the pedlar said, 

Breathing Arabia, sirs, her walls all hung 

With woven purple wonders and great tales 

Of amorous gods, and mighty mirrors, too, 

Imaging her own softness, night and dawn, 

When through her sumptuous hair she drew the combs; 

And like one great white rose-leaf half her breast 

Shone through it, firm as ivory." 

"Ay," said Lodge, 
Murmuring his own rich music under breath, 
*' About her neck did all the graces throng, 
And lay such baits as did entangle death.'' 
"Well, sir, the weather being hot, they feared 
She would not hold the burying!" . . . 

"In some sort," 
Ford answered slowly, "if your tale be true. 
She did not hold it. Many a knightly crest 
Will bend yet o'er the ghost of that small hand." 

There was a hush, broken by Ben at last, 

Who turned to Ford — "How now, my golden lad? 

The astrologer's dead hand is on thy purse!" 

Ford laughed, grimly, and flung an angel down. 
"Well, cause or consequence, rhyme or no rhyme, 
There is thy gold. I will not break the spell, 
Or thou mayst live to bury us one and all!" 

"And, if I live so long," the old man replied, 
Lighting his lanthorn, "you may trust me, sirs. 
Mine Inn is quiet, and I can find you beds 
Where Queens might sleep all night and never move. 
Good-night, sirs, and God bless you, one and all." 

He shoiildered pick and spade. I opened the door. 
The snow blew in, and, as he shuffled out. 
There, in the strait dark passage, I could swear 

23 



386 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

I saw a spark of red upon his hand, 
Like a great smouldering ruby. 

I gasped. He stopped. 
He peered at me. 

"Twice in a night," he said. 
"Nothing," I answered, "only the Ian thorn-light." 
He shook his head. "I'll tell you something more? 
There's nothing, nothing now in life or death 
That frightens me. Ah, things used to frighten me. 
But never now. I thought I had ten years; 
But if the warning comes and says 'Thou fool, 
This nightr Why, then, I'm ready." 

I watched him go, 
With glimmering lanthorn up the narrow street. 
Like one that walked upon the clouds, through snow 
That seemed to mix the City with the skies. 

On Christmas Eve we heard that he was dead. 



VIII 

FLOS MERCATORUM 

Flos Mercatorum! On that night of nights 

We drew from out our Mermaid cellarage 

All the old glory of London in one cask 

Of magic vintage. Never a city on earth — 

Rome, Paris, Florence, Bagdad — held for Ben 

The colours of old London; and, that night, 

We staved them like a wine, and drank, drank deep! 



'Twas Master Heywood, whom the Mermaid Inn 
Had dubbed our London laureate, hauled the cask 
Out of its ancient harbourage. "Ben," he cried, 
Bustling into the room with Dekker and Brome, 
"The prentices are up!" Ben raised his head 
Out of the chime ey-corner where he drowsed, 
And listened, reaching slowly for his pipe. 



FLOS MERCATORUM 387 

*' Clerk of the Bow Bell," all along the Cheape 
There came a shout that swelled into a roar. 

"What! Will they storm the Mermaid?" Heywood 
laughed, 
"They are turning into Bread Street!" 

Down they camel 
We heard them hooting round the poor old Clerk — 
"Clubs! Clubs! The rogue would have us work all night! 
He rang ten minutes late! Fifteen, by Paul's!" 
And over the hubbub rose, like a thin bell, 
The Clerk's entreaty — "Now, good boys, good boys. 
Children of Cheape, be still, I do beseech you ! 
I took some forty winks, but then ..." A roar 
Of wrathful laughter drowned him — "Forty winks! 
Remember Black May-day! We'll make you wink!" 
There was a scuffle, and into the tavern rushed 
Gregory Clopton, Clerk of the Bow Bell, — 
A tall thin man, with yellow hair a-stream, 
And blazing eyes. 

"Hide me," he clamoured, "quick! 
These picaroons will murder me!" 

I closed 
The thick oak doors against the coloured storm 
Of prentices in red and green and ray, 
Saffron and Reading tawny. Twenty clubs 
Drubbed on the panels as I barred them out; 
And even our walls and shutters could not drown 
Their song that, like a mocking peal of bells, 
Under our windows, made all Bread Street ring: — 

" Clerk of the Bow Bell, 

With the yellow locks, 
For thy late ringing 

Thy head shall have knocks!" 

Then Heywood, seeing the Clerk was all a-quake, * 

Went to an upper casement that o'er-looked 

The whole of Bread Street. Heywood knew their ways, 

And parleyed with them till their anger turned 

To shouts of merriment. Then, like one deep bell 

His voice rang out, in answer to their peal: — 



388 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

'' Children of Cheape, 

Hold you all still! 
You shall have Bow Bell 

Rung at your will!" 

Loudly they cheered him. Courteously he bowed, 
Then firmly shut the window; and, ere I filled 
His cup with sack again, the crowd had gone. 

"My clochard, sirs, is warm," quavered the Clerk. 
"I do confess I took some forty winks! 
They are good lads, our prentices of Cheape, 
But hasty I" 

" Wine!'! said Ben. He filled a cup 
And thrust it into Gregory's trembling hands, 
"Yours is a task," said Dekker, "a great task! 
You sit among the gods, a lord of time. 
Measuring out the pulse of London's heart." 

"Yea, sir, above the hours and days and years, 
I sometimes think. 'Tis a great Bell — the Bow! 
And hath been, since the days of Whittington." 

"The good old days," growled Ben. "Both good and bad 
Were measured by my Bell," the Clerk repHed. 
And, while he spoke, warmed by the wine, his voice 
Mellowed and floated up and down the scale 
As if the music of the London bells 
Lingered upon his tongue. "I know them all. 
And love them, all the voices of the bells. 

Flos Mercatorum ! That's the Bell of Bow 
Remembering Richard Whittington. You should hear 
The bells of London when they tell his tale. 
Once, after hearing them, I wrote it down. 
I know the tale by heart now, every turn." 
"Then ring it out," said Heywood. 

Gregory smiled 
And cleared his throat. 

"You must imagine, sirs, 
The Clerk, sitting on high, among the clouds, 
With London spread beneath him like a map. 



FLOS MERCATORUM 389 

Uuuer his tower, a flock of prentices 
Calling like bells, of little size or weight. 
But bells no less, ask that the Bell of Bow 
Shall tell the tale of Richard Whittington, 
As thus." 

Then Gregory Clopton, mellowing all 
The chiming vowels, and dwelling on every tone 
In rhythm or rhyme that helped to swell the peal 
Or keep the ringing measure, beat for beat. 
Chanted this legend of the London bells: — 

Clerk of the Bow Bell, four and twenty prentices, 
All upon a Hallowe'en, we prithee, for our joy, 

Ring a little turn again for sweet Dick Whittington, 
Flos Mercatorum, and a barefoot boy! — ■ 

"Children of Cheape," did that old Clerk answer, 
"You will have a peal, then, for well may you know, 

All the bells of London remember Richard Whittington 
When they hear the voice of the big Bell of Bow!" — 

Clerk with the yellow locks, mellow be thy malmsey! 

He was once a prentice, and carolled in the Strand! 
Ay, and we are all, too, Marchaunt Adventurers, 

Prentices of London, and lords of Engeland. 

"Children of Cheape," did that old Clerk answer, 
"Hold you, ah hold you, ah hold you all still! 

Souling if you come to the glory of a Prentice, 
You shall have the Bow Bell rung at your will!" 

"Whittington! Whittington! 0, turn again, Whittington, 
Lord Mayor of London," the big Bell began: 

"Where was he born? O, at Pauntley in Gloucestershire 
Hard by Cold Ashton, Cold Ashton," it ran. 

*'Flos Mercatorum," moaned the bell of All Hallo wes, 
"There was he an orphan, 0, a little lad alone!" 

"Then we all sang," echoed happy St. Saviour's, 
"Called him, and lured him, and made him our own. 



390 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Told him a tale as he lay upon the hillside, 

Looking on his home in the meadow-lands below!" 

"Told him a tale," clanged the bell of Cold Abbey; 
"Told him the truth," boomed the big Bell of Bow! 

Sang of a City that was like a blazoned missal-book, 
Black with oaken gables, carven and inscrolled; 

Every street a coloured page, and every sign a hieroglyph, 
Dusky with enchantments, a City paved with gold; 

"Younger son, younger son, up with stick and bundle!" — 
Even so we rung for him — "But — kneel before you go; 

Watch by your shield, lad, in little Pauntley Chancel, 
Look upon the painted panes that hold your Arms a-glow,— 

Coat of Gules and Azure; but the proud will not remember it! 

And the Crest a Lion's Head, until the new be won! 
Far away, remember it! And 0, remember this, too, — 

Every barefoot boy on earth is but a younger son." 

Proudly he answered us, beneath the painted window, — 
"Though I be a younger son, the glory falls to me: 

While my brother bideth by a little land in Gloucestershire, 
All the open Earth is mine, and all the Ocean-sea. 

Yet will I remember, yet will I remember. 

By the chivalry of God, until my day be done. 

When I meet a gentle heart, lonely and unshielded. 
Every barefoot boy on earth is but a younger son!" 

Then he looked to Northward for the tall ships of Bristol; 

Far away, and cold as death, he saw the Severn shine: 
Then he looked to Eastward, and he saw a string of colours 

Trickling through the grey hills, like elfin drops of wine; 

Down along the Mendip dale, the chapmen and their horses, 
Far away, and carrying each its little coloured load, 

Winding like a fairy-tale, with pack and corded bundle. 
Trickled like a crimson thread along the silver road. 



FLOS MERCATORUM 391 

Quick he ran to meet them, stick and bundle on his shoulder! 

Over by Cold Ashton, he met them trampling down, — 
White shaggy horses with their packs of purple spicery, 

Crimson kegs of malmsey, and the silks of London town. 

When the chapmen asked of him the bridle-path to Dorset, 
Blithely he showed them, and he led them on their way. 

Led them through the fern with their bales of breathing 
Araby, 
Led them to a bridle-path that saved them half a day. 

Merrily shook the silver bells that hung the broidered bridle- 
rein, 

Chiming to his hand, as he led them through the fern, 
Down to deep Dorset, and the w ooded Isle of Purbeck, 

Then — by little Kimmeridge — they led him turn for turn. 

Down by little Kimmeridge, and up by Hampshire forest- 
roads, 

Round by Sussex violets, and apple-bloom of Kent, 
Singing songs of London, telling tales of London, 

All the way to London, with packs of wool they went. 

"London was London, then! A clean, clear moat 
Girdled her walls that measured, round about. 
Three miles or less. She is big and dirty now," 
Said Dekker. 

"Call it a silver moat," growled Ben, 
"That's the new poetry! Call it crystal, lad! 
But, till you kiss the Beast, you'll never find 
Your Fairy Prince. Why, all those crowded streets, 
Flung all their filth, their refuse, rags and bones. 
Dead cats and dogs, into your clean clear moat. 
And made it sluggish as old Acheron. 
Fevers and plagues, death in a thousand shapes 
Crawled out of it. London was dirty, lad; 
And till you kiss that fact, you'll never see 
The glory of this old Jerusalem!" 

"Ay, 'tis the fogs that make the sunset red," 
Answered Tom Hey wood. "London is earthy, coarse, 
Grimy and grand. You must make dirt the ground, 



392 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Or lose the colours of friend Clopton's tale. 

Ring on!" And, nothing loth, the Clerk resumed: — 

Bravely swelled his heart to see the moat of London glittering 
Round her mighty wall — they told him — two miles long ! 

Then — he gasped as, echoing in by grim black Aldgate, 

Suddenly their shaggy nags were nodding through a 
throng : 

Prentices in red and ray, marchaunts in their saffron, 

Aldermen in violets, and minstrels in white, 
Clerks in homely hoods of budge, and wives with crimson 

wimples. 
Thronging as to welcome him that happy summer night. 

"Back," they cried, and "Clear the way," and caught the 
ringing bridle-reins: 
"Wait! the Watch is going by, this vigil of St. John!" 
Merrily laughed the chapmen then, reining their great white 
horses back, 
"When the pageant passes, lad, we'll up and follow on!" 

There, as thick the crowd surged, beneath the blossomed ale- 
poles. 

Lifting up to Whittington a fair face afraid. 
Swept against his horse by a billow of madcap prentices, 

Hard against the stirrup breathed a green-gowned maid. 

Swift he drew her up and up, and throned her there before 
him, 

High above the throng with her laughing April eyes. 
Like a Queen of Faerie on the great pack-saddle. 

"Hey!" laughed the chapmen, "the prentice wins the prize!" 

"Whittington! Whittington! the world is all before you!" 
Blithely rang the bells and the steeples rocked and reeled ! 

Then — he saw her eyes grow wide, and, all along by Leaden 
Hall, 
Drums rolled, earth shook, and shattering trumpets pealed. 



FLOS MERCATORUM 393 

Like a marching sunset, there, from Leaden Hall to Aldgate, 
Flared the crimson cressets — O, her brows were haloed 
then!— 
Then the stirring steeds went by with all their mounted 
trumpeters. 
Then, in ringing harness, a thousand marching men. 

Marching — marching — his heart and all the halberdiers, 
And his pulses throbbing with the throbbing of the drums; 

Marching — marching — his blood and all the burganets! 

"Look," she cried, "0, look," she cried, " and now the morrice 
comes!" 

Dancing — dancing — her eyes and all the Lincoln Green, 
Robin Hood and Friar Tuck, dancing through the town! 

"Where is Marian?" Laughingly she turned to Richard 
Whittington. 
"Here," he said, and pointed to her own green gown. 

Dancing — dancing — her heart and all the morrice-bells ! 

Then there burst a mighty shout from thrice a thousand 
throats ! 
Then, with all their bows bent, and sheaves of peacock arrows, 

Marched the tall archers in their white silk coats. 

White silk coats, with the crest of London City 
Crimson on the shoulder, a sign for all to read, — 

Marching — marching — and then the sworded henchmen, 
Then, William Walworth, on his great stirring steed. 

Flos Mercatorum, ay, the fish-monger, Walworth, — 
He whose nets of silk drew the silver from the tide. 

He who saved the king when the king was but a prentice, — 
Lord Mayor of London, with his sword at his side! 

Burned with magic changes, his blood and all the pageantry; 

Burned with deep sea-changes, the wonder in her eyes; 
Flos Mercatorum! 'Twas the rose-mary of Paphos, 

Reddening all the City for the prentice and his prize! 



394 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

All the book of London, the pages of adventure, 
Passed before the prentice on that vigil of St. John : 

Then the chapmen shook their reins, — "We'll ride behind the 
revelry, 
Round again to Comhill! Up, and follow on!" 

Riding on his pack-horse, above the shouting multitude, 
There she turned and smiled at him, and thanked him for his 
grace: 
"Let me down by Red Rose Lane," and, like a wave of twilight 
While she spoke, her shadowy hair — touched his tingling 
face. 

When they came to Red Rose Lane, beneath the blossomed ale- 
poles. 
Light along his arm she lay, a moment, leaping down : 
Then she waved "farewell" to him, and down the Lane he 
watched her 
Flitting through the darkness in her gay green gown. 

All along the Cheape, as he rode among the chapmen, 
Round by Black Friars, to the Two-Necked Swan 

Coloured like the sunset, prentices and maidens 
Danced for red roses on the vigil of St. John. 

Over them were jewelled lamps in great black galleries. 
Garlanded with beauty, and burning all the night; 

All the doors were shadowy with orpin and St. John's wort. 
Long fennel, green birch, and lilies of delight. 

"He should have slept here at the Mermaid Inn," 
Said Heywood as the chanter paused for breath. 
"What? Has our Mermaid sung so long?" cried Ben. 
"Her beams are black enough. There was an Inn," 
Said Tom, "that bore the name; and through its heart 
There flowed the right old purple. I like to think 
It was the same, where Lydgate took his ease 
After his hood was stolen; and Gower, perchance; 
And, though he loved the Tabard for a-while, 
I like to think the Father of us all, 



FLOS MERCATORUM 396 

The old Adam of English minstrelsy caroused 
Here in the Mermaid Tavern. I like to think 
Jolly Dan Chaucer, with his kind shrewd face 
Fresh as an apple above his fur-fringed gown, 
One plump hand sporting with his golden chain, 
Looked out from that old casement over the sign, 
And saw the pageant, and the shaggy nags. 
With Whittington, and his green-gowned maid, go by. 

"0, very like," said Clopton, "for the behs 
Left not a head indoors that night." He drank 
A draught of malmsey — and thus renewed his tale: — 



"Flos Mercatorum," mourned the bell of All Hallowes, 
"There was he an orphan, 0, a little lad alone. 

Rubbing down the great white horses for a supper!" 

"True," boomed the Bow Bell, "his hands were his own!" 



Where did he sleep? On a plump white wool-pack, 
Open to the moon on that -vigil of St. John, 

Sheltered from the dew, where the black-timbered gallery 
Frowned above the j'^ard of the Two-Necked Swan. 



Early in the morning, clanged the bell of St. Martin's, 
Early in the morning, with a groat in his hand, 

Mournfully he parted with the jolly-hearted chapmen. 
Shouldered his bundle and walked into the Strand; 



Walked into the Strand, and back again to West Cheape, 
Staring at the wizardry of every painted sign, 

Dazed with the steeples and the rich heraldic cornices 
Drinking in the colours of the Cheape like wine. 



All about the booths now, the parti-coloured prentices 
Fluted like a flock of birds along a summer lane. 

Green linnets, red caps, and gay gold finches, — 

What d'ye lack, and what d'ye lack, and what d'ye lack againi 



396 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

"Buy my dainty doublets, cut on double taffetas, 

Buy my Paris thread," they cried, and caught him by the 
hand, 
"Laces for your Heart's-Delight, and lawns to make her love 
you. 
Cambric for her v/imple, 0, the finest in the land." 

Ah, but he was hungry, foot-sore, weary. 

Knocking at the doors of the armourers that day! 
What d'ye lack? they asked of him; but no man lacked a pren- 
tice: 
When he told them what he lacked, they frowned and turned 
away. 

Hard was his bed that night, beneath a cruel archway, 
Down among the hulks, with his heart growing cold! 

London is a rare town, but 0, the streets of London, 
Red though their flints be, they are not red with gold. 

Pale in the dawn, ere he marched on his adventure, 
Starving for a crust, did he kneel a-while again, 

Then, upon the fourth night, he cried, O, like a wounded bird 
"Let me die, if die I must, in Red Rose Lane." 

Like a little wounded bird he trailed through the darkness, 
Laid him on a door-step, and then — 0, Hke a breath 

Pitifully blowing out his life's little rushlight. 

Came a gush of blackness, a sv/oon deep as death. 

Then he heard a rough voice! Then he saw a lanthorn! 

Then he saw a bearded face, and blindly wondered whose: 
Then — a marchaunt's portly legs, with great Rose- Windows, 

Bigger than St. Paul's, he thought, embroidered on his shoes. 

"Alice!" roared the voice, and then, like a lilied angel. 
Leaning from the lighted door a fair face afraid, 

Leaning over Red Rose Lane, 0, leaning out of Paradise, 
Drooped the sudden glory of his green-gowned maid! 

"0, mellow be thy malmsey," grunted Ben, 
Filling the Clerk another cup. 



FLOS MERCATORUM 397 

"The peal/' 
Quoth Clopton, "is not ended, but the pause 
In ringing, cliimes to a deep inward ear 
And tells its own deep tale. Silence and sound, 
Darkness and light, mourning and mirth, — no tale, 
No painting, and no music, nay, no world, 
If God should cut their fruitful marriage-knot. 
A shallow sort to-day would fain deny 
A hell, sirs, to this boundless universe. 
To such I say 'no hell, no Paradise ! ' 
Others would fain deny the topless towers 
Of heaven, and make this earth a hell indeed. 
To such I say, 'the unplumbed gulfs of grief 
Are only theirs for whom the blissful chimes 
Ring from those unseen heights.' This earth, mid-way, 
Hangs like a belfry where the ringers grasp 
Their ropes in darkness, each in his own place. 
Each knowing, by the tune in his own heart. 
Never by sight, when he must toss through heaven 
The tone of his own bell. Those bounded souls 
Have never heard our chimes! Why, sirs, myself 
Simply by running up and down the scale 
Descend to hell or soar to heaven. My bells 
Height above height, deep below deep, respond! 
Their scale is infinite. Dare I, for one breath. 
Dream that one note hath crowned and ended all, 
Sudden I hear, far, far above those clouds. 
Like laughing angels, peal on golden peal. 
Innumerable as drops of April rain, 
Yet every note distinct, round as a pearl. 
And perfect in its place, a phime of law. 
Whose pure and boundless mere arithmetic 
Climbs with my soul to God." 

Ben looked at him, 
Gently. "Resume, old moralist," he said. 
"On to thy marriage-bells!" 

"The fairy-tales 
Are wiser than they know, sirs. All our,woes 
Lead on to those celestial marriage-bells. 
The world's a- wooing; and the pure City of God 
Peals for the wedding of our joy and pain! 



398 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

This was well seen of Richard Whittington; 
For only he that finds the London streets 
Paved with red flints, at last shall find them paved 
Like to the Perfect City, with pure gold. 
Ye know the world ! what was a London waif 
To Hugh Fitzwarren's daughter? He was fed 
And harboured; and the cook declared she lacked 
A scullion. So, in Hugh Fitzwarren's house. 
He turned the jack, and scoured the dripping-pan. 
How could he hope for more? 

This marchaunt's house 
Was builded like a great high-gabled inn. 
Square, with a galleried courtyard, such as now 
The plaj^ers use. Its rooms were rich and dim 
With deep-set coloured panes and massy beams. 
Its ancient eaves jutted o'er Red Rose Lane 
Darkly, like eyebrows of a mage asleep. 
Its oaken stair coiled upward through a dusk 
Heavy with fume of scented woods that burned 
To keep the Plague away, — a gloom to embalm 
A Pharaoh, but to dull the cheek and eye 
Of country lads like Whittington. 

He pined 
For wind and sunlight. Yet he plied his task 
Patient as in old tales of Elfin-land, 
The 3''0ung knight would unhelm his golden locks 
And play the scullion, so that he might watch 
His lady's eyes unknown, and oftener hear 
Her brook-like laughter rippling overhead; 
Her green gown, like the breath of Eden boughs, 
Rustling nigh him. And all day long he found 
Sunshine enough in this. But when at night 
He crept into the low dark vaulted den. 
The cobwebbed cellar, where the cook had strewn 
The scullion's bed of straw (and none too thick 
Lest he should sleep too long), he choked for breath; 
And, like an old man hoarding up his life. 
Fostered his glimmering rushlight as he sate 
Bolt upright, while a horrible scurry heaved 
His rustling bed, and bright black-beaded eyes 
Peered at him from the crannies of the wall. 



FLOS MERCATORUM 399 

Then darkness whelmed him, and perchance he slept, — 
Only to fight with nightmares and to fly- 
Down endless tunnels in a ghastly dream, 
Hunted by horrible human souls that took 
The shape of monstrous rats, great chattering snouts, 
Vile shapes of shadowy cunning and grey greed, 
That gnaw through beams, and undermine tall towns, 
And carry the seeds of plague and ruin and death 
Under the careless homes of sleeping men. 

Thus, in the darkness, did he wage a war 
With all the powers of darkness. 'If the light 
Do break upon me, by the grace of God,' 
So did he vow, '0, then will I remember, 
Then, then, will I remember, ay, and help 
To build that lovelier City which is paved 
For rich and poor alike, with purest gold.' 

Ah, sirs, he kept his vow. Ye will not smile 

If, at the first, the best that he could do 

Was with his first poor penny-piece to buy 

A cat, and bring her home, under his coat 

By stealth (or else that termagant, the cook,' 

Had drowned it in the water-butt, nor deemed 

The water worse to drink). So did he quell 

First his own plague, but bettered others, too. 

Now, in those days, Marchaunt Adventurers 

Shared with their prentices the happy chance 

Of each new venture. Each might have his stake, 

Little or great, upon the glowing tides 

Of high romance that washed the wharfs of Thames; 

And every lad in London had his groat 

Or splendid shilling on some fair ship at sea. 

So, on an April eve, Fitzwarren called 
His prentices together; for, ere long. 
The Unicorn, his tall new ship, must sail 
Beyond the world to gather gorgeous webs 
From Eastern looms, great miracles of silk 
Dipt in the dawn by ^vizard hands of Ind; 
Or, if they chanced upon that fabled coast 
Where Sydon, river of jewels, like a snake 



400 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Slides down the gorge its coils of crimson fire, 
Perchance a richer cargo, — rubies, pearls, 
Or gold bars from the Gates of Paradise. 
And many a moon, at least, a faerie foam 
Would lap Blackfriars wharf, where London lads 
Gazed in the sunset down that misty reach 
For old black battered hulks and tattered sails 
Bringing their dreams home from the uncharted sea. 

And one flung down a groat — he had no more. 
One staked a shilling, one a good French crown; 
And one an angel, 0, light-winged enough 
To reach Cathay; and not a lad but bought 
His pennyworth of wonder. 

So they thought, 
Till all at once Fitzwarren's daughter cried 
* Father, you have forgot poor Whittington ! ' 
"Snails,' laughed the rosy marchaunt, 'but that's true! 
Fetch Wliittington ! The lad must stake his groat ! 
'Twill bring us luck ! ' 

' Whittington ! Whittington ! ' 
Down the dark stair, like a gold-headed bird. 
Fluttered sweet Alice. 'Whittington! Richard! Quick! 
Quick with your groat now for the Unicorn! ' 

*A groat!' cried Whittington, standing there aghast, 
With brown bare arms, still coloured by the sun. 
Among his pots and pans. ' "Wliere should I find 
A groat? I staked my last groat in a cat! ' 
— 'What! Have you nothing? Nothing but a cat? 
Then stake the cat,' she said; and the quick fire 
That in a woman's mind out-runs the thought 
Of man, lit her grey ej'-es. 

Whittington laughed 
And opened the cellar-door. Out sailed his wealth, 
Waving its tail, purring, and rubbing its head 
Now on his boots, now on the dainty shoe 
Of Alice, who straightwaj^, deaf to his laughing prayers, 
Caught up the cat, whispered it, hugged it close. 
Against its grey fur leaned her glovidng cheek. 
And carried it off in triumph. 



FLOS MERCATORUM 401 

Red Rose Lane 
Echoed with laughter as, with amber eyes 
Blinking, the grey cat in a seaman's arms 
Went to the wharf. 'Ay, but we need a cat,' 
The captain said. So, when the painted ship 
Sailed through a golden sunrise down the Thames, 
A grey tail waved upon the misty poop, 
And Whittington had his venture on the seas. 

It was a nine days' jest, and soon forgot. 

But, all that year, — ah, sirs, ye know the world, 

For all the foolish boasting of the proud. 

Looks not beneath the coat of Taunton serge 

For Gules and Azure. A prince that comes in rags 

To clean your shoes and, out of his own pride. 

Waits for the world to paint his shield again 

Must wait for ever and a day. 

The world 
Is a great hypocrite, hypocrite most of all 
When thus it boasts its purple pride of race. 
Then v/ith eyes blind to all but pride of place 
Tramples the scullion's heraldry underfoot. 
Nay, never sees it, never dreams of it. 
Content to know that, here and now, his coat 
Is greasy. . . . 

So did Whittington find at last 
Such nearness was most distant; that to see her, 
Talk with her, serve her thus, was but to lose 
True sight, true hearing. He must save his life 
By losing it; forsake, to win, his love; 
Go out into the world to bring her home. 
It was but labour lost to clean the shoes. 
And turn the jack, and scour the dripping-pan. 
For every scolding blown about her ears 
The cook's great ladle feU upon the head 
Of Whittington; who, beneath her rule, became 
The scullery's general scapegoat. It was he 
That burned the pie-crust, drank the hippocras, 
Dinted the silver beaker. . . . 

Many a month 
He chafed, tiU his resolve took sudden shape 

26 



402 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Aud, out of the dark house at the peep of day, 
Shouldering bundle and stick again, he stole 
To seek his freedom, and to shake the dust 
Of London from his shoes. . . . 

You know the stone 
On Highgate, where he sate awhile to rest, 
With aching heart, and thought ' I shall not see 
Her face again.' There, as the coloured dawn 
Over the sleeping City slowly bloomed, 
A small black battered ship with tattered sails 
Blurring the burnished glamour of the Thames 
Crept, side-long to a wharf. 

Then, all at once, 
The London bells rang out a welcome home; 
And, over them all, tossing the tenor on high. 
The Bell of Bow, a sun among the stars, 
Flooded the morning air with this refrain : — • 

'Turn again, Whittington! Turn again, Whittington! 

Flos Mercatorum, thy ship hath come home! 
Trailing from her cross-trees the crimson of the sunrise. 
Dragging all the glory of the sunset thro' the foam. 
Turn again, Whittington, 
Turn again, Whittington, 
Lord Mayor of London ! 

Turn again, Wliittington ! When thy hope was darkest. 
Far beyond the sky-line a ship sailed for thee, 

Flos Mercatorum, 0, when thy faith was blindest. 
Even then thy sails were set beyond the Ocean-sea.' 

So he heard and heeded us, and turned again to London, 
Stick and bundle on his back, he turned to Red Rose Lane, 

Hardly hearing as he went the chatter of the prentices, — 
What d'ye lack, and what d'ye lack, and what d'ye lack again? 

Back into the scullery, before the cook had missed him, 

Early in the morning his labours he began: 
Once again to clean the shoes and clatter with the water-pail, 

Once again to scrub the jack and scour the dripping-pan. 



FLOS MERCATORUM 403 

All the bells of London were pealing as he laboured. 

Wildly beat his heart, and his blood began to race. 
Then — there came a light step and, suddenly, beside him 

Stood his lady Alice, with a light upon her face. 

* Quick,' she said, *0, quick,' she said, 'they want you, 
Richard Whittington ! ' 
'Quick,' she said; and, while she spoke, her lighted eyes 
betrayed 
All that she had hidden long, and all she still would hide from 
him. 
So — he turned and followed her, his green-gowned maid. 

There, in a broad dark oaken-panelled room 

Rich with black carvings and great gleaming cups 

Of silver, sirs, and massy halpace built 

Half over Red Rose Lane, Fitzwarren sat; 

And, at his side, 0, like an old romance 

That suddenly comes true and fills the world 

With April colours, two bronzed seamen stood, 

Tattered and scarred, and stained with sun and brine. 

'Flos Mercatorum,' Hugh Fitzwarren cried, 

Holding both hands out to the pale-faced boy, 

'The prentice wins the prize! Why, Whittington, 

Thy cat hath caught the biggest mouse of all ! ' 

And, on to the table, tilting a heavy sack, 

One of the seamen poured a glittering stream 

Of rubies, emeralds, opals, amethysts, 

That turned the room to an Aladdin's cave, 

Or magic goblet brimmed with dusky wine 

'Vhere clustering rainbow-coloured bubbles clung 

And sparkled, in the halls of Prester John. 

'And that,' said Hugh Fitzwarren, 'is the price 
Paid fcr your cat in Barbary, by a King 
Whose house was rich in gems, but sorely plagued 
With rats and mice. Gather it up, my lad, 
And praise your master for his honesty; 
For, though my cargo prospered, yours outshines 
The best of it. Take it, my lad, and go; 
You're a rich man; and, if you use it well, 



404 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

Riches will make you richer, and the world 
Will prosper in your own prosperity. 
The miser, like the cold and barren moon. 
Shines with a fruitless light. The spendthrift fool 
Flits like a Jack-o-Lent over quags and fens; 
But he that's wisely rich gathers his gold 
Into a fruitful and unwasting sun 
That spends its glory on a thousand fields 
And blesses all the world. Take it and go.* 

Blankly, as in a dream, Whittington stared. 
'How should I take it, sir? The ship was yours, 
And . . .' 

*Ay, the ship was mine; but in that ship 
Your stake was richer than we knew. 'Tis yours.' 

'Then,' answered Whittington, 'if this wealth be mine, 
Wlio but an hour ago was all so poor, 
I know one way to make me richer still.' 
He gathered up the glittering sack of gems, 
Turned to the halpace, where his green-gowned maid 
Stood in the glory of the coloured panes. 
He thrust the splendid load into her arms. 
Muttering — 'Take it, lady! Let me be poor! 
But rich, at least, in that you not despise 
The waif you saved.' 

— 'Despise you, Whittington?' — 
*0, no, not in the sight of God! But I 
Grow tired of waiting for the Judgment Day I 
I am but a man. I am a scullion now; 
But I would like, only for half an hour, 
To stand upright and say "I am a king!" 
Take it!' 

And, as they stood, a little apart, 
Their eyes were married in one swift level look, 
Silent, but all that souls could say was said. 

And 
*I know a way,' said the Bell of St. Martin's. 

'Tell it, and be quick,' laughed the prentices belovr! 
'Whittington shall marry her, marry her, marry her! 

Peal for a wedding,' said the big Bell of Bow. 



FLOS MERCATORUM 405 

He shall take a kingdom up, and cast it on the sea again; 

He shall have his caravels to traffic for him now; 
He shall see his royal sails rolling up from Araby, 

And the crest — a honey-bee — golden at the prow. 

Whittington! Whittington! The world is all a fairy tale! — 
Even so we sang for him. — But 0, the tale is true! 

Whittington he married her, and on his merry marriage-daj'', 
0, we sang, we sang for him, like lavrocks in the blue. 

Far awaj"- from London, these happy prentice lovers 
Wandered through the fern to his western home again, 

Down by deep Dorset to the wooded isle of Purbeck, 
Round to little Kimmeridge, by many a lover's lane. 

There did they abide as in a dove-cote hidden 

Deep in happy woods until the bells of duty rang; 

Then they rode the way he went, a barefoot boy to London, 
Round by Hampshire forest-roads, but as they rode he 
sang: — 

Kimmeridge in Dorset is the happiest of places! 

All the little homesteads arc thatched with beauty there! 
All the old ploughmen, there, have happy smiling faces, 

Christmas roses in their cheeJcs, and crowns of silver hair. 

Blue as are the eggs in the nest of th« hedge-sparrow. 
Gleam the little rooms in the homestead that I Icnow: 

Death, I thinlc, has lost the xvay to Kimmeridge in Dorset; 
Sorrow never Icnew it, or forgot it, long ago! 

Kimmeridge in Dorset, Kimmeridge in Dorset, 

Though I may not see you more thro' all the years to be, 

Yet will I remember the little happy homestead 
Hidden in that Paradise where God was good to me. 

So they turned to London, and with mind and soul he laboured, 
Flos Mercatorum, for the mighty years to be, 

Fashioning, for profit — to the years that should forget him! — 
This, our sacred City that must shine upon the sea. 



406 TALES OP THE MERMAID TAVERN 

London was a City when the Poulters ruled the Poultry! 

Rosaries of prayer were hung in Paternoster Row, 
Gutter Lane was Guthrun's, then; and, bright with painted 
missal-books, 

Ave Mary Corner, sirs, was fairer than ye know. 

London was mighty when her marchaunts loved their mer- 
chandise, 

Bales of Eastern magic that empurpled wharf and quay : 
London was mighty when her booths were a dream-market, 

Loaded with the colours of the sunset and the sea. 

There, in all their glory, with the Virgin on their bannerols. 
Glory out of Genoa, the Mercers might be seen. 

Walking to their Company of Marchaunt Adventurers; — 
Gallantly they jetted it in scarlet and in green. 

There, in all the glory of the lordly Linen Armourers, 
Walked the Marchaunt Taylors with the Pilgrim of their 
trade. 

Fresh from adventuring in Italy and Flanders, 
Flos Mercatorum, for a green-gowned maid. 

Flos Mercatorum! Can a good thing come of Nazareth? 

High above the darkness, where our duller senses drown. 
Lifts the splendid Vision of a City, built on merchandise. 

Fairer than that City of Light that wore the violet crown. 

Lifts the sacred vision of a far-resplendent City, 

Flashing, like the heart of heaven, its messages afar. 

Trafficking, as God Himself through all His interchanging 
worlds, 
Holding up the scales of law, weighing star by star. 

Stern as Justice, in one hand the sword of Truth and Right- 
eousness; 
Blind as Justice, in one hand the everlasting scales, 
Lifts the sacred Vision of that City from the darkness, 

Whence the thoughts of men break out, like blossoms, or 
like sails! 



FLOS MERCATORUM 407 

Ordered and harmonious, a City built to music, 
Lifting, out of chaos, the shining towers of law, — 

Ay, a sacred City, and a City built of merchandise, 
Flos Mercatorum, was the City that he saw. 

And by that light," quoth Clopton, "did he keep 
His promise. He was rich; but in his will 
He wTote those words which should be blazed with gold 
In London's Liber Albus: — 

The desire 
And busy intention of a man, devout 
Aiid wise, should be to fore-cast and secure 
The state and end of this short life with deeds 
Of mercy and pity, especially to provide 
For tJwse whom poverty insulteth, those 
To ivhom the power of labouring for the needs 
Of life, is interdicted. 

He became 

The Father of the City. Felons died 

Of fever in old Newgate. He rebuilt 

The prison. London sickened from the lack 

Of water, and he made fresh fountains flow. 

He heard the ciy of suffering and disease, 

And built the stately hospital that still 

Shines like an angel's lanthorn through the night, 

The stately halls of St. Bartholomew. 

He saw men wrapt in ignorance, and he raised 

Schools, colleges, and libraries. He heard 

The cry of the old and weary, and he built 

Houses of refuge. 

Even so he kept 

His prentice vows of Duty, Industry, 

Obedience, words contemned of every fool 

Who shrinks from law; yet were those ancient vows 

The adamantine pillars of the State. 

Let all who play their Samson be well warned 

That Samsons perish, too! 

His monument 

Is London!" 



408 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

"True," quoth Dekker, "and he deserves 
Well of the Mermaid Inn for one good law, 
Rightly enforced. He pilloried that rogue 
Will Horold, who in Whittington's third year 
Of office, as Lord Mayor, placed certain gums 
And spices in great casks, and filled them up 
With feeble Spanish wine, to have the taste 
And smell of Romeney, — Malmsey!" 

''Honest wine, 
Indeed," replied the Clerk, "concerns the State, 
That solemn structure touched with light from heaven, 
Which he, our merchant, helped to build on earth. 
And, while he laboured for it, all things else 
Were added unto him, until the bells 
More than fulfilled their prophecy. 

One great eve, 
Fair Alice, leaning from her casement, saw 
Another Watch, and mightier than the first. 
Billowing past the newly painted doors 
Of Whittington Palace — so men called his house 
In Hart Street, fifteen yards from old Mark Lane, — 
A thousand burganets and halberdiers, 
A thousand archers in their white silk coats, 
A thousand mounted men in ringing mail, 
A thousand sworded henchmen; then, his Guild, 
Advancing, on their splendid bannerols 
The Virgin, glorious in gold; and then, 
Flos Mercatorum, on his great stirring steed 
Whittington! On that night he made a feast 
For London and the King. His feasting hall 
Gleamed like the magic cave that Prester John 
Wrought out of one huge opal. East and West 
Lavished their wealth on that great Citizen 
Who, when the King from Agincourt returned 
Victorious, but with empty coffers, lent 
Three times the ransom of an Emperor 
To fill them — on the royal bond, and said 
When the King questioned him of how and whence, 
'I am the steward of your City, sire! 
There is a sea, and who shall drain it dry?' 



FLOS MERCATORUM 409 

Over the roasted swans and peacock pies, 
The minstrels in the great black gallery tuned 
All hearts to mirth, until it seemed their cups 
Were brimmed with dawn and sunset, and they drank 
The wine of gods. Lord of a hundred ships, 
Under the feet of England, Whittington flung 
The purple of the seas. And when the Queen, 
Catharine, wondered at the costly woods 
That burned upon his hearth, the Marchaunt rose. 
He drew the great sealed parchments from his breast, 
The bonds the King had given him on his loans, 
Loans that might drain the Mediterranean dry. 
'They call us huclcsters, madam, we that love 
Our City,' and, into the red-hot heart of the fire, 
He tossed the bonds of sixty thousand pounds. 
'The fire burns low,' said Richard Whittington. 
Then, overhead, the minstrels plucked their strings; 
And, over the clash of wine-cups, rose a song 
That made the old timbers of their feasting-hall 
Shake, as a galleon shakes in a gale of wind. 
When she rolls glorying through the Ocean-sea: — 

Marchaunt Adventurers, 0, what shall it profit you 

Thus to seek your kingdom in the dream-destroying sun? 
Ask us why the hawthorn brightens on the sky-line: 

Even so our sails break out when Spring is well begun! 
Flos Mercatorum! Blossom wide, ye sail of Englande, 

Hasten ye the kingdom, now the bitter days are done! 
Ay, for we be members, one of another, 

'Each for all and all for each,' quoth Richard Whittington! 

Chorus: — Marchaunt Adventurers, 

Marchaunt Adventurers, 

Marchaunt Adventurers, the Spring is well begun! 
Break, break out on every sea, O, fair white sails of Englande! 

'Each for all, and all for each,' quoth Richard Whittington. 

Marchaunt Adventurers, what 'ull ye bring home again? 

Woonders and works and the thunder of the sea! 
Whom will ye traffic with? The King of the sunset! — 

What shall be your pilot, then? — A wind from Galilee! 



410 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

■ — Nay, but ye be marchaunts, will ye come back empty- 
handed? — 

Ay, we be marchaunts, though our gain we ne'er shall see! 
Cast we now our bread upon the waste wild waters; 

After many days it shall return with usury. 

Chorus: — Marchaunt Adventurers, 

Marchaunt Adventurers, 

What shall be your profit in the mighty days to be? 
Englande! Englande! Englande! Englande! 

Glory everlasting and the lordship of the sea. 

Wliat need to tell you, sirs, how Whittington 
Remembered? Night and morning, as he knelt 
In those old days, 0, like two children still, 
Whittington and his Alice bowed their heads 
Together, praying. 

From such simple hearts, 
O never doubt it, though the whole world doubt 
The God that made it, came the steadfast strength 
Of England, all that once was her strong soul. 
The soul that laughed and shook away defeat 
As her strong cliffs hurl back the streaming seas. 
Sirs, in his old age Whittington returned, 
And stood with Alice, by the silent tomb 
In little Pauntley church. 

There, to his Arms, 
The Gules and Azure, and the Lion's Head 
So proudly blazoned on the painted panes; 
(0, sirs, the simple wistfulness of it 
Might move hard hearts to laughter, but I think 
Tears tremble through it, for the Mermaid Inn) 
He added his new crest, the hard-won sign 
And lowly prize of his own industry. 
The Honey-bee. And, far away, the bells 
Peal softly from the pure white City of God: — 

Ut fragrans nardus 
Fama fuit iste Ricardus. 

With folded hands he waits the Judgment now. 
Slowly our dark bells toll across the world, 



RALEIGH 411 

For him who waits the reckoning, his accompt 
Secure, his conscience clear, his ledger spread 
A Liber Albus flooded with pure light. 

Flos Mercaiorum, 

Fundator presbyterorum, . . . 

Slowly the dark bells toll for him who asks 

No more of men, but that they may sometimes 

Pray for the souls of Richard Whittington, 

Alice, his wife, and (as themselves of old 

Had prayed) the father and mother of each of them. 

Slowly the great notes fall and float away: — 

Omnibus exemplum 
Barathmm vincendo morosutn 
Condidit hoc teniplum . . . 

Pauperibns pater 

Finiit ipse dies 

Sis sibi Christe quies. Amen." 



IX 

RALEIGH 

Ben was our only guest that day. His tribe 
Had flown to their new shrine — the Apollo Room, 
To which, though they enscrolled his golden verse 
Above their doors like some great-fruited vine, 
Ben still preferred our Mermaid, and to smoke 
Alone in his old nook; perhaps to hear 
The voices of the dead, 
The voices of his old companions. 
Hovering near him, — Will and Kit and Rob. 

"Our Ocean-shepherd from the Main-deep sea, 
Raleigh," he muttered, as I brimmed his cup, 
"Last of the men that broke the fleets of Spain, 
'Twas not enough to cage him, sixteen years, 
Rotting his heart out in the Bloody Tower, 



412 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

But they must fling him forth in his old age 

To hunt for El Dorado. Then, mine host, 

Because his poor old ship The Destiny 

Smashes the Spaniard, but comes tottering home 

Without the Spanish gold, our gracious king, 

To please a catamite, 

Sends the old lion back to the Tower again. 

The friends of Spain will send him to the block 

This time. That male Salome, Buckingham, 

Is dancing for his head. Raleigh is doomed." 

A shadow stood in the doorway. We looked up; 

And there, but 0, how changed, how worn and grey, 

Sir Walter Raleigh, like a hunted thing, 

Stared at us. 

"Ben," he said, and glanced behind him., 
Ben took a step towards him. 

"0, my God, 
Ben,'* whispered the old man in a husky voice, 
Half timorous and half cunning, so unlike 
His old heroic self that one might weep 
To hear it, "Ben, I have given them all the slip! 
I may be followed. Can you hide me here 
Till it grows dark?" 

Ben drew him quickly in, and motioned me 
To lock the door. "Till it grows dark," he cried, 
"My God, that you should ask it!" < 

"Do not think, 
Do not believe that I am quite disgraced," 
The old man faltered, "for they'll say it, Ben; 
And when my boy grows up, they'll tell him, too, 
His father was a coward. I do cling 
To life for many reasons, not from fear 
Of death. No, Ben, I can disdain that still; 
But — there's my boy!" 

Then all his face went blind. 
He dropt upon Ben's shoulder and sobbed outright, 
"They are trying to break my pride, to break my pride!" 
The window darkened, and I saw a face 
Blurring the panes. Ben gripped the old man's arm, 
And led him gently to a room within. 
Out of the way of guests. 



RALEIGH 413 

"Your pride," lie said, 
"That is the pride of England!" 

At that name — 
England! — 

As at a signal-gun, heard in the night 
Far out at sea, the weather and world-worn man, 
That once was Raleigh, lifted up his head. 
Old age and weakness, weariness and fear 
Fell from him like a cloak. He stood erect. 
His eager eyes, full of great sea-washed dawns, 
Burned for a moment with immortal youth, 
While tears blurred mine to see him. 

"You do think 
That England will remember? You do think it?" 
He asked with a great light upon his face. 
Ben bowed his head in silence. 



" I have "vtTonged 
My cause by this," said Raleigh. "Well they know it 
Who left this way for me. I have flung myself 
Like a blind moth into this deadly light 
Of freedom. Now, at the eleventh hour. 
Is it too late? I might return and — " 

"No! 
Not now!" Ben interrupted. "I'd have said 
Laugh at the headsman sixteen years ago, 
When England was awake. She will awake 
Again. But now, while our most gracious king, 
Who hates tobacco, dedicates his prayers 
To Buckingham — 

This is no land for men that, under God, 
Shattered the Fleet Invincible." 

A knock 
Startled us, at the outer door. "My friend 
Stukeley," said Raleigh, "if I know his hand. 
He has a ketch will carry me to France, 
Waiting at Tilbury." 

I let him in, — 
A lean and stealthy fellow. Sir Lewis Stukeley, — 
I liked him little. He thought much of his health, 



414 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

More of his money bags, and most of all 

On how to run with all men all at once 

For his own profit. At the Mermaid Inn 

Men disagreed in friendship and in truth; 

But he agreed with all men, and his life 

Was one soft quag of falsehood. Fugitives 

Must use false keys, I thought; and there was hope 

For Raleigh if such a man would walk one mile 

To serve him now. Yet my throat moved to see him 

Usurping, with one hand on Raleigh's arm, 

A kind of ownership. "Lend me ten pounds," 

Were the first words he breathed in the old man's ear, 

And Raleigh slipped his purse into his hand. 



Just over Bread Street hung the bruised white moon 

When they crept out. Sir Lewis Stukeley's watch-dog, 

A derelict bo'sun, with a mulberry face, 

Met them outside. "The coast quite clear, eh. Hart?" 

Said Stukeley. "Ah, that's good. Lead on, then, quick." 

And there, framed in the cruddle of moonlit clouds 

That ended the steep street, dark on its light. 

And standing on those glistening cobblestones 

Just where they turned to silver, Raleigh looked back 

Before he turned the corner. He stood there. 

A figure like foot-feathered Mercury, 

Tall, straight and splendid, waving his plumed hat 

To Ben, and taking his last look, I felt. 

Upon our Mermaid Tavern. As he paused. 

His long fantastic shadow swayed and swept 

Against our feet. Then, like a shadow, he passed. 



"It is not right," said Ben, "it is not right. 
Why did they give the old man so much grace? 
Witness and evidence are what they lack. 
Would you trust Stukeley — not to draw him out? 
Raleigh was always rash. A phrase or two 
Will turn their murderous axe into a sword 
Of righteousness — 



RALEIGH 415 

Why, come to think of it, 
Blackfriar's Wharf, last night, I landed there, 
And — no, by God! — Raleigh is not himself. 
The tide will never serve beyond Gravesend. 
It is a trap! Come on! We'll follow them! 
Quick! To the river side!" — 

We reached the wharf 
Only to see their wherry, a small black cloud 
Dwindling far down that running silver road. 
Ben touched my arm. 
"Look there," he said, pointing up-stream. 

The moon 
Glanced on a cluster of pikes, like sUver thorns. 
Three hundred yards away, a little troop 
Of weaponed men, embarking hurriedly. 
Their great black wherry clumsily swung about. 
Then, with twelve oars for legs, came striding down. 
An armoured beetle on the glittering trail 
Of some small victim. 

Just below our wharf 
A little dinghy waddled. 
Ben cut the painter, and without one word 
Drew her up crackling thro' the lapping water, 
Motioned me to the tiller, thrust her off. 
And, pulling with one oar, backing with the other, 
Swirled her round and down, hard on the track 
Of Raleigh. Ben was an old man now but tough, 
O tough as a buccaneer. We distanced them. 
His oar blades drove the silver boiling back. 
By Broken Wharf the beetle was a speck. 
It dwindled by Queen Hythe and the Three Cranes. 
By Bellyn's Gate we had left it, out of sight. 
By Custom House and Galley Keye we shot 
Thro' silver all the way, without one glimpse 
Of Raleigh. Then a dreadful shadow fell 
And over us the Tower of London rose 
Like ebony; and, on the glittering reach 
Beyond it, I could see the small black cloud 
That carried the great old seaman slowly down 
Between the dark shores whence in happier years 
The throng had cheered his golden galleons out. 



416 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

And watched his proud sails filling for Cathay. 
There, as through lead, we dragged by Traitor's Gate, 
There, in the darkness, under the Bloody Tower, 
There, on the very verge of victory, 
Ben gasped and dropped his oars. 
"Take one and row," he said, "my arms are numbed. 
We'll overtake him yet!" I clambered past him. 
And took the bow oar. 

Once, as the pace flagged, 
Over his shoulder he turned his great scarred face 
And snarled, with a trickle of blood on his coarse lips, 
"Hard!"— 

And blood and fire ran through my veins again. 
For half a minute more. 

Yet we fell back. 
Our course was crooked now. And suddenly 
A grim black speck began to grow behind us, 
Grow like the threat of death upon old age. 
Then, thickening, blackening, sharpening, foaming, swept 
Up the bright line of bubbles in our wake. 
That armoured wherry, with its long twelve oars 
All well together now. 

"Too late," gasped Ben, 
His ash-grey face uplifted to the moon. 
One quivering hand upon the thwart behind him, 
A moment. Then he bowed over his knees 
Coughing. "But we'll delay them. We'll be drunk, 
And hold the catch-polls up!" 

We drifted down 
Before them, broadside on. They sheered aside. 
Then, feigning a clumsy stroke, Ben drove our craft 
As they drew level, right in among their blades. 
There was a shout, an oath. They thrust us off; 
And then we swung our nose against their bows 
And pulled them round with every well-meant stroke. 
A full half minute, ere they won quite free. 
Cursing us for a pair of drunken fools. 

We drifted down behind them. 

"There's no doubt," 
Said Ben, "the headsman waits behind all this 



RALEIGH 417 

For Raleigh. This is a play to cheat the soul 

Of England, teach the people to applaud 

The red fifth act." 

Without another word we drifted down 

For centuries it seemed, until we came 

To Greenwich. 

Then up the long white burnished reach there crept 

Like little sooty clouds the two black boats 

To meet us. 

"He is in the trap," said Ben, 
"And does not know it yet. See, where he sits 
By Stukeley as by a friend." 

Long after this, 
We heard how Raleigh, simply as a child. 
Seeing the tide would never serve him now, 
And they must turn, had taken from his neck 
Some trinkets that he wore. "Keep them," he said 
To Stukelej', "in remembrance of this night." 

He had no doubts of Stukeley when he saw 

The wherry close beside them. He but wrapped 

His cloak a little closer round his face. 

Our boat rocked in their wash when Stukeley dropped 

The mask. We saw him give the sign, and heard 

His high-pitched quavering voice — "in the king's naSie!" 

Raleigh rose to his feet. "I am under arrest?" 

He said, like a dazed man. 

And Stukeley laughed. 
Then, as he bore himself to the grim end, 
All doubt being over, the old sea-king stood 
Among those glittering points, a king indeed. 
The black boats rocked. We heard his level voice, 
"Sir Lewis, these actions never will turn out 
To your good credit." Across the moonlit Thames 
It rang contemptuously, cold as cold steel. 
And passionless as the judgment that ends all. 



Some three months later, Raleigh's widow came 

To lodge a se'nnight at the Mermaid Inn. 

His house in Bread Street was no more her own, 

27 



418 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

But in the hands of Stukeley, who had reaped 

A pretty harvest. . . 

She kept close to her room, and that same night, 

Being ill and with some fever, sent her maid 

To fetch the apothecary from Friday Street, 

Old "Galen" as the Mermaid christened him. 

At that same moment, as the maid went out, 

Stukeley came in. He met her at the door; 

And, chucking her under the chin, gave her a letter. 

"Take this up to your mistress. It concerns 

Her property," he said. "Say that I wait, 

And would be glad to speak with her." 

The wench 
Looked pertly in his face, and tripped upstairs. 
I scarce could trust my hands. 

"Sir Lewis," I said, 
"This is no time to trouble her. She is ill." 
"Let her decide," he answered, with a sneer. 
Before I found another word to say 
The maid tripped down again. I scarce believed 
My senses, when she beckoned him up the stair. 
Shaking from head to foot, I blocked the way. 
"Property!" Could the crux of mine and thine 
Bring widow and murderer into one small room? 
"Sir Lewis," I said, "she is ill. It is not right! 
She never would consent." 

He sneered again, 
"You are her doctor? Out of the way, old fool! 
She has decided!" 

"Go," I said to the maid, 
"Fetch the apothecary. Let it rest 
With him!" 

She tossed her head. Her quick eyes glanced, 
Showing the white, like the eyes of a vicious mare. 
She laughed at Stukeley, loitered, then obeyed. 



And so we waited, till the wench returned. 
With Galen at her heels. His wholesome face, 
Russet and wrinkled like an apple, peered 
Shrewdly at Stukeley, twinkled once at me, 



RALEIGH 419 

And passed in silence, leaving a whiff of herbs 
Behind him on the stair. 

Five minutes later, 
To my amazement, that same wholesome face 
Leaned from the lighted door above, and called 
"Sir Lewis Stukeley!" 

Sir Judas hastened up. 
The apothecary followed him within. 
The door shut. I was left there in the dark 
Bewildered; for my heart was hot with thoughts 
Of those last months. Our Summer's Nightingale, 
Our Ocean-Shepherd from the Main-deep Sea, 
The Founder of our Mermaid Fellowship, 
Was this his guerdon — at the Mermaid Inn? 
Was this that maid-of-honour whose romance 
With Raleigh, once, had been a kingdom's talk? 
Could Bess Throckmorton slight his memory thus? 
"It is not right," I said, "it is not right. 
She wrongs him deeply." 

I leaned against the porch 
Staring into the night. A ghostly ray 
Above me, from her window, bridged the street, 
And rested on the goldsmith's painted sign 
Opposite. 

I could hear the muffled voice 
Of Stukeley overhead, persuasive, bland; 
And then, her own, cooing, soft as a dove 
Calling her mate from Eden cedar-boughs, 
Flowed on and on; and then — all my flesh crept 
At something worse than either, a long space 
Of silence that stretched threatening and cold, 
Cold as a dagger-point pricking the skin 
Over my heart. 

Then came a stifled cry, 
A crashing door, a footstep on the stair 
Blundering like a drunkard's, heavily down; 
And with his gasping face one tragic mask 
Of horror, — may God help me to forget 
Some day the frozen awful eyes of one 
Who, fearing neither hell nor heaven, has met 
That ultimate weapon of the gods, the face 



420 TALES OP THE MERMAID TAVERN 

And serpent-tresses that turn flesh to stone — 
Stukeley stumbled, groping his way out, 
Blindly, past me, into the sheltering night. 



It was the last night of another year 
Before I understood what punishment 
Had overtaken Stukeley. Ben, and Brome — 
Ben's ancient servant, but turned poet now — 
Sat by the fire with the old apothecary 
To see the New Year in. 

The starry night 
Had drawn me to the door. Could it be true 
That our poor earth no longer was the hub 
Of those white wheeling orbs? I scarce believed 
The strange new dreams; but I had seen the veils 
Rent from vast oceans and huge continents, 
Till what was once our comfortable fire, 
Our cosy tavern, and our earthly home 
With heaven beyond the next turn in the road, 
All the resplendent fabric of our world 
Shrank to a glow-worm, lighting up one leaf 
In one small forest, in one little land. 
Among those wild infinitudes of God. 
A tattered wastrel wandered down the street, 
Clad in a seaman's jersey, staring hard 
At every sign. Beneath our own, the light 
Fell on his red carbuncled face. I knew him — 
The bo'sun, Hart. 

He pointed to our sign 
And leered at me. "That's her," he said, "no doubt. 
The sea-witch with the shiny mackerel tail 
Swishing in wine. That's what Sir Lewis meant. 
He called it blood. Blood is his craze, you see. 
This is the Mermaid Tavern, sir, no doubt?" 
I nodded. "All, I thought as much," he said. 
"Well — happen this is worth a cup of ale." 
He thrust his hand under his jersey and lugged 
A greasy letter out. It was inscribed 
The Apothecaey at the Mermaid Tavern. 



RALEIGH 421 

I led him in. "I knew it, sir," he said. 
While Galen broke the seal. "Soon as I saw 
That sweet young naked wench curling her tail 
In those red waves. — The old man called it blood. 
Blood is his craze, you see. — But you can tell 
'Tis wine, sir, by the foam. Malmsey, no doubt. 
And that sweet wench to make you smack your lips 
Like oysters, with her slippery tail and all ! 
Why, sir, no doubt, this was the Mermaid Inn." 

*'But this," said Galen, lifting his grave face 

To Ben, "this letter is from all that's left 

Of Stukeley. The good host, there, thinks I wronged 

Your Ocean-shepherd's memory. From this letter, 

I think I helped to avenge him. Do not wrong 

His widow, even in thought. She loved him dearly. 

You know she keeps his poor grey severed head 

Embalmed; and so will keep it till she dies; 

Weeps over it alone. I have heard such things 

In wild Italian tales. But this was true. 

Had I refused to let her speak with Stukeley 

I feared she would go mad. This letter proves 

That I — and she perhaps — were instruments, 

Of some more terrible chimrgery 

Than either knew." 

"Ah, when I saw your sign," 
The bo'sun interjected, "I'd no doubt 
That letter was well worth a cup of ale." 

"Go — paint your bows with hell-fire somewhere else, 
Not at this inn," said Ben, tossing the rogue 
A good French crown. "Pickle yourself in hell." 
And Hart lurched out into the night again. 
Muttering "Thank you, sirs. 'Twas worth all that. 
No doubt at all." 

"There are some men," said Galen, 
Spreading the letter out on his plump knees, 
"Will heap up wrong on wrong; and, at the last, 
Wonder because the world will not forget 
Just when it suits them, cancel all they owe. 
And, like a mother, hold its arms out wide 
At their first cry. And, sirs, I do believe 



422 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

That Stukeley, on that night, had some such wish 
To reconcile himself. What else had passed 
Between the widow and himself I know not; 
But she had lured him on until he thought 
That words and smiles, perhaps a tear or two, 
Might make the widow take the murderer's hand 
In friendship, since it might advantage both. 
Indeed, he came prepared for even more. 
Villains are always fools. A wicked act, 
What is it but a false move in the game, 
A blind man's blunder, a deaf man's reply, 
The wrong drug taken in the dead of night? 
I always pity villains. 

I mistook 
The avenger for the victim. There she lay 
Panting, that night, her ej^es like summer stars 
Her pale gold hair upon the pillows tossed 
Dishevelled, while the fever in her face 
Brought back the lost wild roses of her youth 
For half an hour. Against a breast as pure 
And smooth as any maid's, her soft arms pressed 
A bundle wrapped in a white embroidered cloth. 
She crooned over it as a mother croons 
Over her suckling child. I stood beside her. 
— That was her wish, and mine, while Stukeley stayed. 
And, over against me, on the other side. 
Stood Stukeley, gnawing his nether lip to find 
She could not, or she would not, speak one word 
In answer to his letter. 

'Lady Raleigh, 
You wrong me, and you wrong yourself,' he cried, 
' To play like a green girl when great affairs 
Are laid before you. Let me speak with you 
Alone.' 

'But I am all alone,' she said, 
'Far more alone than I have ever been 
In all my life before. This is my doctor. 
He must not leave me.' 

Then she lured him on, 
Played on his brain as a musician plays 
Upon the lute. 



RALEIGH 423 

'Forgive me, dear Sir Lewis, 
If I am grown too gay for widowhood. 
But I have pondered for a long, long time 
On all these matters, I know the world was right; 
And Spain was right, Sir Lewis. Yes, and you. 
You too, were right; and my poor husband wrong. 
You see I knew his mind so very well. 
I knew his every gesture, every smile. 
I lived with him. I think I died mth him. 
It is a strange thing, marriage. For my soul 
(As if myself were present in this flesh) 
Beside him, slept in his grey prison-cell 
On that last dreadful dawn. I heard the throng 
Murmuring round the scaffold far away; 
And, with the smell of sawdust in my nostrils, 
I woke, bewildered as himself, to see 
That tall black-cassocked figure by his bed. 
I heard the words that made him understand: 
The Body of our Lord — take and eat this! 
I rolled the small sour flakes beneath my tongue 
With him. I caught, with him, the gleam of tears, 
Far off, on some strange face of sickly dread. 
The Blood — and the cold cup was in my hand. 
Cold as an axe-heft washed with waterish red. 
I heard his last poor cry to wife and child. — 
Could any that heard forget it? — My true God, 
Hold you both in His arms, both in His arms. 
And then — that last poor wish, a thing to raise 
A smile in some. I have smiled at it myself 
A thousand times. 

"Give me my pipe," he said, 
"My old Winchester clay, with the long stem, 
And half an hour alone. The crowd can wait. 
They have not waited half so long as I." 
And then, then, I know what soft blue clouds. 
What wavering rings, fragrant ascending wreaths 
Melted his prison walls to a summer haze, 
Through which I think he saw the little port 
Of Budleigh Salterton, like a sea-bird's nest 
Among the Devon cliffs — the tarry quay 
Whence in his boyhood he had flung a line 



424 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

For bass or whiting-pollock. I remembered 
(Had he not told me, on some summer night, 
His arm about my neck, kissing my hair) 
He used to sit there, gazing out to sea; 
Fish, and for what? Not all for what he caught 
And handled; but for rainbow-coloured things, 
The water-drops that jewelled his thin line, 
Flotsam and jetsam of the sunset-clouds; 
While the green water, gurgling through the piles, 
Heaving and sinking, helped him to believe 
The fast-bound quay a galleon plunging out 
Superbly for Cathay. There would he sit 
Listening, a radiant boy, child of the sea, 
Listening to some old seaman's glowing tales, 
His grey eyes rich with pictures — 

Then he saw, 
And I with him, that gathering in the West, 
To break the Fleet In\'incible. O, I heard 
The trumpets and the neighings and the drums. , 
^ I watched the beacons on a hundred hills. 

I drank that wine of battle from his cup, 
And gloried in it, lying against his heart. 
I sailed with him and saw the unknown worldsl 
The slender ivory towers of old Cathay 
Rose for us over lilac-coloured seas 
That crumbled a sky-blue foam on long shores 
Of shining sand, shores of so clear a glass 
They drew the sunset-clouds into their bosom 
And hung that City of Vision in mid-air 
Girdling it round, as with a moat of sky, 
Hopelessly beautiful. 0, yet I heard, 
Heard from his blazoned poops the trumpeters 
Blowing proud calls, while overhead the flag 
Of England floated from white towers of sail — 
And yet, and yet, I knew that he was wrong, 
And soon he knew it, too. 

I saw the cloud 
Of doubt assaU him, in the Bloody Tower, 
When, being withheld from sailing the high seas 
For sixteen years, he spread a prouder sail. 
Took up his pen, and, walled about with stone, 



RALEIGH 425 

Began to write — his History of the World. 

And emperors came like Lazarus from the grave 

To wear his purple. And the night disgorged 

Its empires, till, O, like the swirl of dust 

Around their marching legions, that dim cloud 

Of doubt closed round him. Was there any man 

So sure of heart and brain as to record 

The simple truth of things himself had seen? 

Then who could plumb that night? The work broke off! 

He knew that he was wrong. I knew it, too! 

Once more that stately structure of his dreams 

Melted like mist. His eagles perished like clouds. 

Death wound a thin horn through the centuries. 

The grave resumed his forlorn emperors. 

His empires cmmbled back to a little ash 

Knocked from his pipe. — 

He dropped his pen in homage to the truth. 

The truth? 0, eloquent, jicst and mighty Death! 

Then, when he forged, out of one golden thought, 

A key to open his prison; when the King 

Released him for a tale of faerie gold 

Under the tropic palms; when those grey walls 

Melted before his passion; do you think 

The gold that lured the King was quite the same 

As that which Raleigh saw? You know the song: 

"Say to the King," quoth Raleigh, 
"I have a tale to tell him; 
Wealth beyond derision, 
Veils to lift from the sky, 
Seas to sail for England, 

And a little dream to sell him, 
Gold, the gold of a vision 
That angels cannot buy." 

Ah, no! For all the beauty and the pride, 
Raleigh was wrong; but not so wrong, I think. 
As those for whom his kingdoms oversea 
Meant only glittering dust. The fight he waged 
Was not with them. They never worsted him. 



426 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

It was The Destiny that brought him home 
Without the Spanish gold. — 0, he was wrong, 
But such a wrong, in Gloriana's day, 
Was more than right, was immortality. 
He had just half an hour to put all this 
Into his pipe and smoke it. — 

The red fire, 
The red heroic fire that filled his veins 
When the proud flag of England floated out 
Its challenge to the world — all gone to ash? 
What! Was the great red wine that Drake had quaffed 
Vinegar? He must fawn, haul down his flag, 
And count all nations nobler than his own, 
Tear out the lions from the painted shields 
That hung his poop, for fear that he offend 
The pride of Spain? Treason to sack the ships 
Of Spain? The wounds of slaughtered Englishmen 
Cried out — there is no laio beyond the line! 
Treason to sweep the seas with Francis Drake? 
Treason to fight for England? 

If it were so. 
The times had changed and quickly. He had been 
A schoolboy in the morning of the world 
Playing with wooden swords and winning crowns 
Of tinsel; but his comrades had outgrown 
Their morning-game, and gathered round to mock 
His battles in the sunset. Yet he knew 
That all his life had passed in that brief day; 
And he was old, too old to understand 
The smile upon the face of Buckingham, 
The smile on Cobham's face, at that great word 
England! 

He knew the solid earth was changed 
To something less than dust among the stars — 
And, 0, be sure he knew that he was wrong. 
That gleams would come, 
Gleams of a happier world for younger men, 
That Commonwealth, far off. This was a time 
Of sadder things, destruction of the old 
Before the new was born. At least he knew 
It was his own way that had brought the world 



RALEIGH 427 

Thus far, England thus far! How could he change, 

Who had loved England as a man might love 

His mistress, change from year to fickle year? 

For the new years would change, even as the old. 

No — he was wedded to that old first love, 

Crude flesh and blood, and coarse as meat and drink, 

The woman — England; no fine angel-isle. 

Ruled by that male Salome — Buckingham! 

Better the axe than to live on and wage 

These new and silent and more deadly wars 

That play at friendship with our enemies. 

Such times are evil. Not of their own desire 

They lead to good, blind agents of that Hand 

Which now had hewed him down, down to his knees, 

But in a prouder battle than men knew. 



His pipe was out, the guard was at the door. 
Raleigh was not a god. But, when he climbed 
The scaffold, I believe he looked a man. 
And when the axe fell, I believe that God 
Set on his shoulders that immortal head 
Which he desired on earth. 

0, he was wrong! 
But when that axe fell, not one shout was raised. 
That mighty throng around that crimson block 
Stood silent — like the hushed black cloud that holds 
The thunder. You might hear the headsman's breath. 
Stillness like that is dangerous, being charged. 
Sometimes, with thought. Sir Lewis! England sleeps! 
What if, one day, the Stewart should be called 
To know that England wakes? What if a shout 
Should thunder-strike Whitehall, and the dogs lift 
Their heads along the fringes of the crowd 
To catch a certain savour that I know. 
The smell of blood and sawdust? — ■ 

Ah, Sir Lewis, 
'Tis hard to find one little seed of right 
Among so many wrongs. Raleigh was wrong. 
And yet — it was because he loved his country 
Next to himself, Sir Lewis, by your leave. 



428 T.\LES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

His country butchered him. You did not know 

That I was only third in his affections? 

The night I told him — we were parting then — 

I had begged the last disposal of his body, 

Did he not say, with 0, so gentle a smile, 

" Thou hadst not always the disposal of it 

In life, dear Bess. 'Tis well it should he thine 

In death!'' ' 

'The jest was bitter at such an hour, 
And somewhat coarse in grain,' Stukeley replied. 
'Indeed I thought him kinder.' 

'Kinder,' she said. 
Laughing bitterly. 

Stukeley looked at her. 
She whispered something, and his lewd old eyes 
Fastened upon her own. He knelt by her. 
'Perhaps,' he said, 'your woman's wit has found 
A better way to solve this bitter business.' 
Her head moved on the pillow -udth little tossings. 
He touched her hand. It leapt quickly away. 
She hugged that strange white bundle to her breast, 
And wTithed back, smiling at him, across the bed. 

'Ah, Bess,' he whispered huskily, pressing his lips 
To that warm hollow where her head had lain, 
' There is one way to close the long dispute, 
Keep the estates unbroken in your hands 
And stop all slanderous tongues, one happy way. 
We have some years to live; and why alone?' 
'Alone?' she sighed. 'My husband thought of that. 
He WTote a letter to me long ago, 
When he was first condemned. He said — he said — 
Now let me think — what was it that he said? — 
I had it all by heart. ^'Beseech you, Bess, 
Hide not yourself for many days", he said.' 
'True wisdom that,' quoth Stukeley, 'for the love 
That seeks to chain the living to the dead 
Is but self-love at best!' 

'And yet,' she said, 
' How his poor heart was torn between two cares, 
Love of himself and care for me, as thus : 



RALEIGH 429 

Love God! Begin to repose yourself on Him! 

Therein you shall find true and lasting riches; 

But all the rest is nothing. When you have tired 

Your thoughts on earthly things, when you have travelled 

Through all the glittering pomps of this proud world 

You shall sit down by Sorroiv in the end. 

Begin hethnes, and teach your little son 

To serve and fear God also. 

Then God will be a husband unto you, 

And unto him a father; nor can Death 

Bereave you any more. When I am gone. 

No doubt you shall be sotight unto by many 

For the world thinks that I was very rich. 

No greater misery can befall you, Bess, 

Than to become a prey, and, afterwards, 

To be despised.' 

'Human enough,' said Stukeley, 
'And yet — self-love, self-love!' 

'Ah no,' quoth she, 
'You have not heard the end: God knows, I speak it 
Not to dissuade you — not to dissuade you, mark — 
From marriage. That will be the best for you, 
Both in respect of God and of the world. 
Was that self-love. Sir Lems? Ah, not all. 
And thus he ended : For his father^ s sake 
That chose and loved you in his happiest times, 
Remember your poor child! The Everlasting, 
Infinite, powerful, and inscrutable God, 
Keep you and yours, have mercy upon me, 
Aiid teach me to forgive my false accusers — 
Wrong, even in death, you see. Then — My true wife, 
Farewell! 

Bless my poor boy! Pray for me! My true God, 
Hold you both in His arms, both in His arms! 
I know that he was wrong. You did not know, 
Sir Lewis, that he had left me a little child. 
Come closer. You shall see its orphaned face, 
The sad, sad relict of a man that loved 
His country — all that's left to me. Come, look!' 
She beckoned Stukeley nearer. He bent down 
Curiously. Her feverish fingers drew 



430 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

The white wrap from the bundle in her arms, 

And, with a smile that would make angels weep. 

She showed him, pressed against her naked breast. 

Terrible as Medusa, the grey flesh 

And shrivelled face, embalmed, the thing that dropped 

Into the headsman's basket, months agone, — 

The head of Raleigh. 

Half her body lay 
Bare, while she held that grey babe to her heart; 
But Judas hid his face. . . . 
'Living,' she said, 'he was not always mine; 
But — dead — I shall not wean him ' — 

Then, I too 
Covered my face — I cannot tell you more. 
There was a dreadful silence in that room. 
Silence that, as I know, shattered the brain 
Of Stukeley. — When I dared to raise my head 
Beneath that silent thunder of our God, 
The man had gone — 

This is his letter, sirs, 
Written from Lundy Island: For God's love, 
Tell them it is a cruel thing to say 
That I drink blood. I have no secret sin. 
A thousand pound is not so great a sum; 
And that is all they paid me, every penny. 
Salt water, that is all the drink I taste 
On this rough island. Somebody has taught 
The sea-gulls how to ivail around my hut 
All night, like lost souls. And there is a face, 
A dead man's face that laughs in every storm. 
And sleeps in every pool along the coast. 
I thought it was my oivn, once. But I know 
These actions never, never, on God's earth. 
Will ttirn out to their credit, who believe 
That I drink blood." 

He crumpled up the letter 
And tossed it into the fire. 

"Galen," said Ben, 
"I think you are right — that one should pity villains." 



RALEIGH 431 

The clock struck twelve. The bells began to peal. 
We drank a cup of sack to the New Year. 
"New songs, new voices, all as fresh as may," 
Said Ben to Brome, "but I shall never live 
To hear them." 

All was not so well, indeed. 
With Ben, as hitherto. Age had come upon him. 
He dragged one foot as in paralysis. 
The critics bayed against the old lion, now, 
And called him arrogant. "My brain," he said, 
"Is yet unhurt although, set round with pain, 
It cannot long hold out." He never stooped, 
Never once pandered to that brainless hour. 
His coat was thread-bare. Weeks had passed of late 
Without his voice resounding in our inn. 

"The statues are defiled, the gods dethroned. 
The Ionian movement reigns, not the free soul. 
And, as for me, I have lived too long," he said. 
"Well — I can weave the old threnodies anew." 
And, filling his cup, he murmured, soft and low, 
A new song, breaking on an ancient shore: 



Marlowe is dead, and Greene is in his grave, 
And sweet Will Shakespeare long ago is gone! 

Our Ocean-shepherd sleeps beneath the wave; 

Robin is dead, and Marlowe in his grave. 

Why should I stay to chant an idle stave, 
And in my Mermaid Tavern drink alone? 

For Kit is dead and Greene is in his grave. 
And sweet Will Shakesi^eare long ago is gone. 



II 

Where is the singer of the Faerie Queen? 
Where are the lyric lips of Astrophel? 
Long, long ago, their quiet graves were green; 
Av, and the grave, too, of their Faerie Queen! 



432 TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN 

And yet their faces, hovering here unseen, 
Call me to taste their new-found cenomel; 

To sup with him who sang the Faerie Queen; 
To drink with him whose name was Astrophel. 

Ill 

I drink to that great Inn beyond the grave! 

— If there be none, the gods have done us wrong. — 
Ere long I hope to chant a better stave, 
In some great Mermaid Inn beyond the grave; 
And quaff the best of earth that heaven can save, 

Red wine like blood, deep love of friends and song. 
I drink to that great Inn beyond the grave; 

And hope to greet my golden lads ere long. 

He raised his cup and drank in silence. Brome 
Drank with him, too. The bells had ceased to peal. 
Galen shook hands, and bade us all good-night: 
Then Brome, a little wistfully, I thought, 
Looked at his old-time master, and prepared 
To follow. 

"Good-night — Ben," he said, a pause 
Before he spoke the name. "Good-night! Good-night! 
My dear old Brome," said Ben. 

And, at the door, 
Brome whispered to me, "He is lonely now. 
There are not many left of his old friends. 
We all go out — like this — into the night. 
But what a fleet of stars!" he said, and shook 
My hand, and smiled, and pointed to the sky. 
And, when I looked into the room again, 
The lights were very dim, and I believed 
That Ben had fallen asleep. His great grey head 
Was bowed across the table, on his arms. 
Then, all at once, I knew that he was weeping; 
And like a shadow I crept back again, 
And stole into the night. 

There as I stood 
Under the painted sign, I could have vowed 
That I, too, heard the voices of the dead, 



RALEIGH 433 

The voices of his old companions, 
Gathering round him in that lonely room, 
Till all the timbers of the Mermaid Inn 
Trembled above me with their ghostly song: 



Say to the King, quoth Raleigh 
I have a tale to tell him, 
Wealth beyond derision, 
Veils to lift from the sky, 
Seas to sail for England 
And a little dream to sell him, — 
Gold, the gold of a vision. 
That angels cannot buy. 



II 



Fair thro' the walls of his dungeon, 
— What were the stones but a shadows- 
Streamed the light of the rapture, 
The lure that he followed of old. 
The dream of his old companions. 
The vision of El Dorado, 
The fleet that they never could capture, 
The City of Sunset-gold. 



Ill 



Yet did they sail the seas 

And, dazed with exceeding wonder, 
Straight through the sunset-glory 
Plunge into the dawn: 
Leaving their home behind them, 
By a road of splendour and thunder, 
They came to their home in amazement 
Simply by sailing on. 

28 



434 A WATCHWORD OF THE FLEET 

NEW POEMS 
A WATCHWORD OF THE FLEET 

[For purposes of recognition at night a small squadron of 
Elizabethan ships, crossing the Atlantic, adopted as a watch- 
word the sentence: Before the world — was God.] 

They diced with Death. Their big sea-boots 

Were greased with blood. They swept the seas 
For England; and — we reap the fruits 

Of their heroic deviltries! 
Our creed is in the cold machine, 

The inhuman devildoms of brain, 

The bolt that splits the midnight main, 
Loosed at a lever's touch; the lean 

Torpedo; "Twenty Miles of Power"; 
The steel-clad Dreadnoughts' dark array! 

Yet ... we that keep the conning tower 
Are not so strong as they 

Whose watchword we disdain. 

They laughed at odds for England's sake! 

We count, yet cast our strength away. 
One Admiral with the soul of Drake 

Would break the fleets of hell to-day! 
Give us the splendid heavens of youth. 

Give us the banners of deathless flame, 

The ringing watchwords of their fame, 
The faith, the hope, the simple truth! 

Then shall the Deep indeed be swayed 
Through all its boundless breadth and length, 

Nor this proud England lean dismayed 
On twenty miles of strength, 

Or shrink from aught but shame. 

Pull out by night, O leave the shore 
And lighted streets of Plj^mouth town. 

Pull out into the Deep once more! 
There, in the night of their renown, 

29 



NEW WARS FOR OLD 435 

The same great waters roll their gloom 

Around our midget period; 

And the huge decks that Raleigh trod 
Over our petty darkness loom! 

Along the line the cry is passed 
From all their heaven-illumined spars, 

Clear as a bell, from mast to mast, 
It rings against the stars: 

Before the world — was God. 



NEW WARS FOR OLD 

"Peace with its luxury is the corrupter of Nations.'' 

Any militarist Journal. 



Peace! When have we prayed for peace? 

Over us burns a star 
Bright, beautiful, red for strife! 
Yours are only the drum and the fife 
And the golden braid and the surface of life! 

Ours is the white-hot war! 

II 

Peace? When have we prayed for peace? 

Ours are the weapons of men! 
Time changes the face of the world! 
Therefore your ancient flags are furled, 
And ours are the unseen legions hurled 

Up to the heights again! 

Ill 

Peace? When have we prayed for peace? 

Is there no wrong to right? 
Wrong crying to God on high 
Here where the weak and the helpless die, 
And the homeless hordes of the city go by. 

The ranks are rallied to-night! 



436 THE PRAYER FOR PEACE 

IV 
Peace? When have we prayed for peace? 

Are ye so dazed with words? 
Earth, heaven, shall pass away 
Ere for your passionless peace we pray! 
Are ye deaf to the trumpets that call us to-day, 

Blind to the blazing swords? 

THE PRAYER FOR PEACE 

"Unless public opinion can rise to the height of discussing the 
substitution of law for force as a great world-movement, the 
American arbitration proposals cannot be carried out." 

Sir Edward Grey. 



Dare we — though our hope deferred 

Left us faithless long ago — 
Dare we let our hearts be stirred, 

Lift them to the light and knoio, 
Cast away our cynic shields. 
Break the sword that Mockery wields, 
Knoiv that Truth indeed prevails. 
And that Justice holds the scales? 

Britain, kneel! 
Kneel, Imperial Commonweal! 

II 

Dare we know that this great hour. 
Dawning on thy long renown, 

Marks the purpose of thy power, 
Crowns thee vv^ith a mightier crown, 

Know that to this purpose climb 

All the l)lood-red wars of Time? 

If indeed thou hast el goal 

Beaconing to thy warrior soul, 
Britain, kneel! 

Kneel, Imperial Commonweal! 



THE PRAYER FOR PEACE 437 



III 

Dare we know what every age 
Writes with an unerring hand, 
Read the midnight's moving page, 
Read the stars and understand, — ■ 
Out of Chaos ye shall draw 
Linked harmonies of Law, 
Till around the Eternal Sun 
All your peoples move in one? 

Britain, kneel! 
Kneel, Imperial Commonweal! 

IV 

Dare we know that wearied eyes 
Dimmed with dust of every day 
Can, once more, desire the skies 

And the glorious upward way? 
Dare we, if the Truth should still 
Vex with doubt our alien will, 
Take it to our Maker's throne, 
Let Him speak with us alone? 

Britain, kneel! 
Kneel, Imperial Commonweal! 



V 

Dare we cast our pride away? 

Dare we tread where Lincoln trodf 
All the Future, by this day, 

Waits to judge us and our God! 
Set the struggling peoples free! 
Crovm with Laio their Liberty! 
Proud urith an immortal pride, 
Kneel we at our Sister's side! 

Britain, kneel! 
Kneel, Imperial Commonweal! 



438 THE DAWN OF PEACE 

THE SWORD OF ENGLAND 

(Written during a European war crisis) 

Not as one muttering in a spell-bound sleep 

Shall England speak the word; 
Not idly bid the embattled lightnings leap, 

Nor lightly draw the sword! 

Let statesmen grope by night in a blind dream, 

The cold clear morning star 
Should like a trophy in her helmet gleam 

When England sweeps to war! 

Not like a derelict, drunk with surf and spray. 

And drifting down to doom; 
But like the Sun-god calling up the day 

Should England rend that gloom. 

Not as in trance, at some hypnotic call, 

Nor with a doubtful cry; 
But a clear faith, like a banner above us all, 

Rolling from sky to sky. 

She sheds no blood to that vain god of strife 

Whom striplings call "renown"; 
She knows that only they who reverence life 

Can nobly lay it down; 

And these will ride from child and home and love, 

Through death and hell that day; 
But 0, her faith, her flag, must burn above, 

Her soul must lead the way! 

THE DAWN OF PEACE 

Yes — "on our brows we feel the breath 

Of dawn," though in the night we wait! 

An arrow is in the heart of Death, 
A God is at the doors of Fate! 



THE DAWN OF PEACE 439 

The spirit that moved upon the Deep 
Is moving through the minds of men: 

The nations feel it in their sleep, 

A change has touched their dreams again. 

Voices, confused, and faint, arise. 

Troubling their hearts from East and West. 
A doubtful light is in their skies, 

A gleam that will not let them rest: 
The dawn, the dawn is on the wing, 

The stir of change on every side, 
Unsignalled as the approach of Spring, 

Invincible as the hawthorn-tide. 

Have ye not heard it, far and nigh. 

The voice of France across the dark. 
And all the Atlantic with one cry 

Beating the shores of Europe? — hark! 
Then — if ye will — uplift your word 

Of cynic wisdom! Once again 
Tell us He came to bring a sword. 

Tell us He lived and died in vain. 

Say that we dream! Our dreams have woven 

Truths that out-face the burning sun: 
The lightnings, that we dreamed, have cloven 

Time, space, and linked all lands in one! 
Dreams! But their swift celestial fingers 

Have knit the world with threads of steel. 
Till no remotest island lingers 

Beyond the world's one Commonweal. 

Tell us that custom, sloth, and fear 

Are strong, then name them "common-sense"! 
Tell us that greed rules everywhere, 

Then dub the lie "experience": 
Year after year, age after age. 

Has handed down, thro' fool and child, 
For earth's divinest heritage 

The dreams whereon old wisdom smiled. 



440 THE BRINGERS OF GOOD NEWS 

Dreams are they? But ye cannot stay them, 

Or thrust the dawn back for one hour! 
Truth, Love, and Justice, if ye slay them, 

Return with more than earthly power: 
Strive, if ye will, to seal the fountains 

That send the Spring thro' leaf and spray: 
Drive back the sun from the Eastern mountains, 

Then — bid this mightier movement stay. 

It is the Dawn of Peace! The nations 

From East to West have heard a cry, — 
"Though all earth's blood-red generations 

By hate and slaughter climbed thus high, 
Here — on tliis height — still to aspire, 

One only path remains untrod. 
One path of love and peace climbs higher! 

Make straight that highway for our God." 



THE BRINGERS OF GOOD NEWS 

Like fallen stars the watch-fires gleamed 
Along our menaced age that night! 

Our bivouacked century tossed and dreamed 
Of battle with the approaching light. 

Rumors of change, a sea-like roar. 

Shook the firm earth with doubt and dread: 
The clouds, in rushing legions bore 

Their tattered eagles overhead. 

I saw the muffled sentries rest 

On the dark hills of Time. I saw 
Around them march from East to West 

The stars of the unresting law. 

I knew that in their mighty course 

They brought the dawn, they brought the day; 
And that the unconquerable force 

Of the new years was on the way. 



\ 



THE BRINGERS OF GOOD NEWS 441 

I heard the feet of that great throng! 

I saw them shine, like liopc, afar! 
Their shout, their shout was like a song, 

And 0, 'twas not a song of war! 

Yet, as the whole world with their tramp 

Quivered, a signal-lightning spoke, 
A bugle Vv-arned our darkling camp. 

And, like a thunder-cloud, it woke. 

Our searchlights raked the world's wide ends. 

O'er the dark hills a grey light crept. 
Down, through the light, that host of friends 

We took for foemen, triumphing swept. 

The old century could not hear their cry. 
How should it hear the song they sang? 

We hritig good, news! It pierced the sky! 
We bring good neios! The welkin rang. 

One shout of triumph and of faith; 

And then — our shattering cannon roared! 
But, over the reeking ranks of death, 

The song rose like a single sword. 

We bring good neivs! Red flared the guns! 

We bring good news! The sabres flashed! 
And the dark age with its own sons 

In bhnd and furious battle clashed. 

A swift, a terrible bugle pealed. 

The sulphurous clouds were rolled away. 
Embraced, embraced, on that red field, 

The wounded and the dying lay. 

We bring good news! Blood choked the word; 

• — We knew you not; so dark the night! — 
father, was I worth your sword? 

son, herald of the light! 



442 AT NOON 

We bring good news! — The darkness fills 

Mine eyes! — Nay, the night ebbs away 5 

And, over the everlasting hills, 

The great new dawn led on the day. 



THE LONELY SHRINE 

(A few months after the Milton T er-centenary ,) 

I 

The crowd has passed away, 

Faded the feast, and most forget! 

Master, we come with lowly hearts to pay 
Our deeper debt. 

II 

High they upheld the wine. 

And royally, royally drank to thee! 

Loud were their plaudits. Now the lonely shrine 
Accents our knee. 



ill 

All dark and silent now! 

Master, thy few are faithful still, 
And nightly hear thy brooks that warbling flow 

By Siloa's hill. 



AT NOON 

(after the FRENCH OF VERLAINE) 

The sky is blue above the roof, 

So calm, so blue; 
One rustling bough above the roof 

Rocks, the noon through. 



TO A FRIEND OF BOYHOOD LOST AT SEA 443 

The bell-tower in the sky, aloof, 

Tenderly rings! 
A bird upon the bough, aloof, 

Sorrows and sings. 

My God, my God, and life is here 

So simple and still! 
Far off, the murmuring town I hear 

At the wind's will .... 

What hast thou done, thou, weeping there? 

quick, the truth! 
What hast thou done, thou, weeping there, 

With thy lost youth? 



TO A FRIEND OF BOYHOOD LOST AT SEA 

O warm blue sky and dazzling sea, 
Where have you hid my friend from me? 

The white-chalk coast, the leagues of surf 
Laugh to the May-light, now as then. 

And violets in the short sweet turf 
Make fragmentary heavens again. 

And sea-born wings of rustling snow 

Pass and re-pass as long ago. 

Old friend, do you remember yet 
The daj^s when secretly we met 

In that old harbor years a-back, 
Where I admired your billowing walk, 

Or in that perilous fishing smack 
What tarry oaths perfumed your talk, 

The sails we set, the ropes we spliced. 

The raw potato that we sliced, 

For mackerel-bait — and how it shines 
Far down, at end of the taut lines! — 

And the great catch we made that day, 



4M OUR LADY OF THE TWILIGHT 

Loading our boat with rainbows, quick 

And quivering, while you smoked your clay 

And I took home your "Deadwood Dick" 
In yellow and red, when day was done 
And you took home my Stevenson? 

Not leagues, as when you sailed the deep, 
But only some frail bars of sleep 

Sever us now! Methinks you still 
Recall, as I, in dreams, the quay, 

The little port below the hUl: 
And all the changes of the sea, 

Like some great music, can but roll 

Our lives still nearer to the goal. 



OUR LADY OF THE TWILIGHT 

Our Lady of the Twilight 

From out the sunset-lands 
Comes gently stealing o'er the world 

And stretches out her hands, 
■ Over the blotched and broken wall. 

The blind and foetid lane, 
She stretches out her hands and all 

Is beautiful again. 

No factory chimneys can defile 

The beauty of her dress: 
She stoops down with her heavenly smile 

To heal and love and bless: 
All tortured things, all evil powers, 

All shapes of dark distress 
Are turned to fragrance and to flowers 

Beneath her kind caress. 

Our Lady of the Twilight, 

She melts our prison-bars! 

She makes the sea forget the shore, 
She fills the sky with stars. 



THE HILL-FLOWERS 445 

And stooping over wharf and mill, 

Chimney and shed and dome, 

Turns them to fairy palaces, 

Then calls her children home. 

She stoops to bless the stunted tree, 

And from the furrowed plain, 
And from the wrinkled brow she smooths 

The lines of care and pain: 
Hers are the gentle hands and eyes 

And hers the peaceful breath 
That ope, in sunset-softened skies, 

The quiet gates of death. 

Our Lady of the Twilight, 

She hath such gentle hands, 
So lovely are the gifts she brings 

From out the sunset-lands, 
So bountiful, so merciful 

So sweet of soul is she; 
And over all the world she draws 

Her cloak of charity. 

THE HILL-FLOWERS 

"/ will lift up mine eyes to the hills" 
I 

Moving through the dew, moving through the dew. 

Ere I waken in the city — Life, thy dawn makes all things new! 

And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men. 

Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings again! 

Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, 
mountains of my boyhood, I come again to you, 
By the little path I know, with the sea far below, 
And above, the great cloud-galleons with their sails of rose and 
snow; 

As of old, when all was young, and the earth a song unsung 
And the heather through the crimson dawn its Eden incense 
flung 



^46 THE HILL-FLOWERS 

From the mountain-heights of joj', for a careless-hearted boy, 
And the lav rocks rose like fountain sprays of bliss that ne'er 
could cloy, 

From their little beds of bloom, from the golden gorse and 

broom, 
With a song to God the Giver, o'er that waste of wild perfume; 
Blowing from height to height, in a glory of great light, 
While the cottage-clustered valleys held the lilac last of night, 

So, when dawn is in the skies, in a dream, a dream, I rise, 
And I follow my lost boyhood to the heights of Paradise. 
Life, thy dawn makes all things new! Hills of Youth, I come 

to you. 
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew. 



II 

Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, 
Floats a brother's face to meet me! Is it you? Is it you? 
For the night I leave behind keeps these dazzled eyes still blind! 
But oh, the little hill-flowers, their scent is wise and kind; 

And I shall not lose the Vv^ay from the darkness to the day. 
While dust can cling as their scent clings to memory for aj^e; 
And the least link in the chain can recall the whole again, 
And heaven at last resume its far-flung harvests, grain by grain. 

To the hill-flowers clings my dust, and tho' eyeless Death may 

thrust 
All else into the darkness, in their heaven I put my trust; 
And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread of thyme 
Where first I heard the ripple of the fountain-heads of rhyme. 

And a fir-wood that I know, from dawn to sunset-glow, 
Shall whisper to a lonely sea, that swings far, far below. 
Death, thy dawn makes all things new. Hills of Youth, I 

come to you, 
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew. 



THE CAROL OF THE FIR-TREE 447 

THE CAROL OF THE FIR-TREE 

Quoth the Fir-tree, "Orange and vine" 

Sing 'Nowell, Nowell, NoweW! 
"Have their honour: I have mine!" 

In Excelsis Gloria! 
"I am kin to the great king's house," 

Ring 'Nowell, Nowell, Nowell '/ 
"And Lebanon whispers in my boughs." 

In Excelsis Gloria! 

Apple and cherry, pear and plum, 

Winds of Autumn, sigh 'Nowell '! 
All the trees like mages come 

Bending loiv with 'Gloria'! 
Holding out on every hand 

Summer pilgrims to Nowell! 
Gorgeous gifts from Elfin-land. 

And the May saith 'Gloria'! 

Out of the darkness — ^^who shall say 

Gold and myrrh for this Nowell! 
How they win their wizard way? 

Out of the East with 'Gloria'! 
Men that eat of the sun and dew 

Angels laugh and sing, 'Nowell.' 
Call it "fruit," and say it "grew"! 

Into the West with 'Gloria'! 

"Leaves that fall," whispered the Fir 

Through the forest sing 'Nowell'! 
"I am winter's minister." 

In Excelsis Gloria! 
Summer friends may come and go, 

Up the mountain sing ' Nowell. ' 
Love abides thro' storm and snow. 

Down the valley, 'Gloria'! 

"On my boughs, on mine on mine," 

Father and mother, sing 'Nowell'! 
"All the fruits of the earth shall twine." 
Bending loiv unth 'Gloria.' 



us THE CAROL OF THE FIR-TREE 

"Sword of wood and doll of wax" 

Little children, sing ' Noivell.' 
"Swing on the stem was cleft with the axe!" 

Craftsmen all, a 'Gloria.' 

**Hear! I have looked on the other side." 

Out of the East, sing 'NoweW! 
"Because to live this night I died!" 

Into the West with 'Gloria.' 
"Hear! In this lighted room I have found" 

Ye that seek, sing ' Nowell'I 
"The spell that worketh underground." 

Ye that doubt, a 'Gloria.' 

"1 have found it, even I," 

Ye that are lowly, sing 'Nowell'! 
"The secret of this alchemy!" 

Ye that are "poor, a 'Gloria.' 
"Look, your tinsel turneth to gold." 

Sing 'Nowell! Nowell! Nowell!' 
"Your dust to a hand for love to hold!" 

In Excelsis Gloria. 

"Lay the axe at my young stem now!" 

Woodma7i, woodman, sing 'Nowell.' 
"Set a star on every bough!" 

In Excelsis Gloria! 
"Hall and cot shall see me stand," 

Rich and -poor man, sing 'Nowell'! 
"Giver of gifts from Elfin-land." 

Oberon, answer 'Gloria.' 

" Hung by the hilt on your Christmas-tree" 

Little children, sing 'Nowell'! 
*'Your wooden sword is a cross for me." 

Emperors, a 'Gloria.' 
"I have found that fabulous stone" 

Ocean-worthies, cry 'Nowell.' ■ 
"Which turneth all things into one," 

Wise men all, a 'Gloria.' 



THE CAROL OF THE FIR-TREE 449 

"It is not ruby nor anything" 

Jeweller, jeweller, siiig ' Nowell '/ 
*'Fit for the crown of an earthly King:" 

In Excelsis Gloria! 
*' It is not here! It is not there!" 

Traveller, rest and cry ' Nowell' f 
Vlt is one thing and everywhere!" 

Heaven and Earth sing 'Gloria.' 



"It is the earth, the moon, the sun," 

Mote in the sunbeam, sing 'Nowell'! 
"And all the stars that march as one." 

In Excelsis Gloria! 
"Here, by the touch of it, I can see" 

Sing, Life, a sweet Nowell! 
"The world's King die on a Christmas-tree." 

Answer, Death, with 'Gloria.' 



"Here, not set in a realm apart," 

East and West are one ' Nowell 7 
"Holy Land is in your Heart!" 

North and South one 'Gloria'! 
"Death is a birth, birth is a death,' 

Love is all, sing 'Nowell'! 
"And London one with Nazareth." 

And all the World a 'Gloria.' 



"And angels over your heart's roof sing" 

Birds of God, pour 'Nowell'! 
"That a poor man's son is the Son of a King!" 

Out of your heart this 'Gloria'! 
f Round the world you'll not away" 

In your own soul, they sing 'Nowell'! 
"From Holy Land this Christmas Day!" 

In your own soul, this 'Gloria.' 



450 LAVENDER 

LAVENDER 

Lavender, lavender 

That makes your linen sweet; 
The hawker brings his basket 

Down the sooty street: 
The dirty doors and pavements 

Are simmering in the heat: 
He brings a dream to London, 

And drags his weary feet. 



Lavender, lavender, 

From where the bee hums, 
To the loud roar of London, 

With purple dreams he comes, 
From ragged lanes of wild-flowers 

To ragged London slums. 
With a basket full of lavender 

And purple dreams he comes. 



Is it nought to you that hear him? 

With the old strange cry 
The weary hawker passes. 

And some will come and buy, 
And some will let him pass away 

And only heave a sigh, 
But most will neither heed nor hear 

When dreams go by. 



Lavender, lavender! 

His songs were fair and sweet, 
He brought 7is harvests out of heaven^ 

Full sheaves of radiant wheat; 
He brought us keys to Paradise, 

A7id hawked them thro' the street; 
He brought his dreams to London, 

And dragged his weary feet. 



LAVENDER 451 

Lavender, lavender! 

He is gone. The sunset glows; 
But through the brain of London 

The mj^stic fragrance flows. 
Each foggy cell remembers, 

Each ragged alley knows, 
The land he left behind him, 

The land to which he goes. 



The End 



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